


A Young Man's Crush

by Sittingonthis



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: AU, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Family, Growing Up, Romance, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sittingonthis/pseuds/Sittingonthis
Summary: A young man gains a crush on one of the nurses in Nonnatus House. Whatever will be done? Features The Turners, Patsy Mount, Delia Busby, and a heart worn on one's sleeve. Multi-chapter. Reviews are welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was inspired by the wonderful Think_Busby_Think, a fine writer of classic CTM fic A Matter of Trust and currently Convergence (which everyone should read!). She wrote a 300 word drabble which I have expanded upon with her permission. She also has done an immense job of beta-reading this for me, which I am very grateful.

1963\. Poplar.

It had been difficult for Shelagh Turner to let go initially. She found it helped that she could do so in small measures. A young man didn't want his mother's loving care as much as a young boy had needed it.

If she had been asked 5 years ago, she would never have seen herself being host to a group of young men in her own home. And yet, here she was trying very much not to intrude on her son doing homework with two school friends, Michael and John.

The boys had staked out the kitchen table with books splayed out in front of them. Occasionally one boy lifted up his head with a line of banter. Another one would wad a piece of paper and threaten to let it fly in response. These flare ups would soon dissipate and laughter would ensue. Shelagh sat in the parlour reading the Lancet. She shook her head at the nervous energy of the young. Youth never understood how lucky they were to have such endless reserves.

"Come on Tim! Tell us what it's like," she overhead from the kitchen.

"Yeah, stop holding out on us Timmyboy" the other young man egged on.

"It's not anything. They're just nurses. They do nurse-stuff. That's it," Tim contended.

"They spend all day between other women's knees. I tell you, I wouldn't mind a job like that," John said crudely.

Shelagh didn't want to eavesdrop, but really she couldn't help her ears from pricking up at such talk. The boys had to be discussing Nonnatus House, she reasoned. There were no other nurses that Tim was in constant contact with in Poplar. In fact, since she and Patrick had returned from South Africa she noticed that Tim had become a constant presence at that residence. He volunteered to help Fred with the maintenance whenever he could. Or the nuns with the gardening. Even Nurse Busby had become a history tutor, while Nurse Franklin or Nurse Mount would sometimes train him on basic hygiene or fitness. He had been quite adopted by the kind-hearted women of Nonnatus and Shelagh hoped that he appreciated it. She knew that she herself did.

"I'd like to get my chance at the blonde one," Michael snickered. "She's gorgeous," he hooted.

"Not me mate. I'd go for the red-head. I've had a thing for her since scouts," John rejoined.

"What do you say Tim? How about an introduction mate?" he cajoled.

"Yeah Timmy, you can't keep all the birds to yourself," Michael tried to peer pressure.

"No chance! You'd just embarrass yourself and me." Tim insisted snottily.

Shelagh nearly got up to try to dissipate the hot steam that she was sure was rising from Timothy's head at that moment. She knew that tone in her son's voice was not to be brooked.

"Oh do be quiet the both you," Tim Turner hissed. "If I hear you talk about those women, or any woman, like that again then we'll not be mates anymore," he said strongly. "And frankly Michael, you need me too badly to pass maths, right?" he smirked.

There was a tense pause which felt to Shelagh like an eternity. Just as she got up to intervene she heard a nervous laugh from the kitchen.

"All right Turner, no need to get your knickers in a twist. We won't ruin your chances. But you must admit - you're a lucky man," he said enviously.

"No, I'm a fortunate one to get to be in her...their company," he said offhandedly. "Now can we get back to chemistry?" he pleaded.

"Ugh" John sighed.

"You're such a slave master," the other boy sighed.

Shelagh entered the kitchen and the young men instantly fell silent switching their attention to the nearest book available.

"Tim? Isn't it near dinner time?" Shelagh asked.

"Translation: Tim move from the kitchen." Tim smirked.

"See. All that training has not been in vain," she smiled as the boys gathered their books and moved out.

* * *

As she cleaned up what remained from the pack of boys, she mulled over what she had overheard.

At times her adopted son reminded her so much of her husband. Patrick brooked no talk against women's role in society. She had never witnessed him say anything disrespectful toward any nurse that he worked with at the surgery. Her experience had taught her that this was unfortunately the exception rather than rule. Often when she had been seconded to the London as a nun, or even now as Patrick's wife, she experienced the worst from her husband's colleagues. Junior doctors who were insufferable. Lecherous patients who felt entitled to take liberties with their state of dress. She had witnessed it all.

She couldn't help but be proud of her adopted son in this moment. Still, she couldn't help but note that her son had nearly said "her company". The quick correction to "their" had been left unremarked upon but Shelagh couldn't help but believe that perhaps her son was singling out one of the nurses in particular. And she knew that such an attachment was natural. Tim was a young man after all. Puberty meant inevitable hormone surges, and her son was not immune.

However any harboured feelings toward the quartet of young nurses currently in residence was futile. Shelagh discounted Nurse Crane, respectfully. Nurse Barbara was engaged to Reverend Hereward, so she was out of the running. Nurse Franklin was an obvious choice being the most glamorous health worker that the East End had ever seen. And then there were Nurse Mount and Nurse Busby, who were often joined at the hip. Timothy had become attached to them both. Although, more so recently to the Welsh nurse who had not long ago received her midwifery certification. They had spent long hours together revising as she helped him with history, while he quizzed her on child-birthing methods.

That night she turned toward Patrick in bed and unburdened her thoughts. He laughed at her fretting.

"Well, I guess it was inevitable. We Turner men have a history of falling love with nurses," he chuckled. "We're just lucky that it didn't include the habit as well," he smirked.

Shelagh playfully scoffed at his impertinence.

"Patrick will you please speak to him? If I am wrong then you can ease my mind because it will hurt my heart to see him crushed by unrequited feelings," Shelagh pleaded.

"He wouldn't be the first young person to do so, dear, but I'll speak to him. Better to address now before it gets to involved or have him face the embarassment of any of the nurses discovering his misplaced affection" Patrick replied.

Shelagh sighed contentedly as she wrapped herself in her husband's arm. They each eased into the sleep of the harmoniously reposed for the night.

* * *

Patrick stood in the doorway to his son's room. It had been a few days since he had promised his wife that he would have this discussion. A ill-timed outbreak had delayed the promised father and son conversation. If he was honest, however, he was at a loss at how to begin. His own father had always been the classic example of English restraint to the core of his being. They had not traded more than 2000 words in his entire life time, and the majority of it had been about the football.

Still, Patrick knew that the only way to begin difficult conversations was to begin.

"Son, I need to talk to you for a moment," he said as he closed the door entering the room.

His teenage son's face instantly became stricken by alarm and grief.

"Is something wrong? Is mum alright? Angela?" he stammered.

"Everyone's all right. It's not anything like that." He sighed. Suddenly he was in desperate need for a cigarette.

"Your mum wanted me to talk to you about something she overheard the other day," he said haltingly. Patrick suddenly chuckled to himself as he sat down opposite his son.

"What dad? Just spit it out or we'll be here all night," Tim smirked.

"Alright. Look do you remember when we talked about girls and growing up?" Patrick asked.

"Yes. I'm still traumatised by it," he said cheekily.

"Me too." Patrick laughed in remembrance of that tricky conversation. "Well, you know that not every man feels about women with the same respect as we do. I think it's because we have more exposure to their difficulties and the strength they have to overcome those circumstances. Most men don't respect that like we do. In fact they fear it," he spoke earnestly.

"I know Dad." Tim shifted irritatedly in his chair.

"And I know that you spend more time with the nurses at Nonnatus than with any of the girls from school," he poked trying to get to the heart of the matter.

"It's just..." Tim paused choosing his words carefully. "Girls at school are so silly. All they care about are The Beatles or what's on their own face."

"Still Tim, I wouldn't set your heart on something developing that is quite unlikely," Patrick warned.

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Coming from you, that's pretty rich," he smirked. Patrick laughed at his son's own clever perceptions. "Hush you," he smiled.

Reaching out, he ruffled his son's hair affectionately.

"Look, I'll just come right out with it. Do you have a crush on Nurse Franklin?" he asked.

Tim's eyes became as big as saucers as he squirmed uncomfortably.

"Son, it's perfectly acceptable. I honestly believe she's the subject of fantasy by half the male population of Poplar," he laughed.

"Dad!" Tim exclaimed in a voice three octaves above it's normal register. "No! She's good-looking but…" he hesitated, clearing his throat as he whispered conspiratorially. "I don't think I'm really interested in blondes."

"Tim…" Patrick hesitated as his son turned his red face away. He felt his son draw away from him embarrassed. Exhausted, the father felt as if he had gone as far as he could this evening with his son. Again he reached out and squeezed his son's arm.

"Okay, son. I'll stop prying but just remember, all women are to be respected."

He grinned.

"And it never hurts, to look around. As I well know, love can be found in the most unlikely of places," he said over his shoulder as he closed the door.

"I know Dad," Tim shouted as he closed his Welsh history book that he had borrowed from the library. He sighed as he pulled out a snapshot that he had surreptitiously taken one day at Nonnatus House. Using it as a bookmark, he couldn't help but pour over the visage of one nurse in particular before drifting to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Big Thanks to the wonderful Think_Busby_Think who can teach me more about grammar than a college degree ever did.

" _Just a little bit of sou-ou-ou-ou-oul_  
_Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah_  
_Clap your hands just a little bit louder"_

Stevie Wonder sang out from the record player as Delia tried her best to save her feet. It had been a long time since she had danced with a teenage boy. A younger Delia had avoided country dances like the plague, preferring to do anything else. Unfortunately, as her mother lectured, it was considered very rude to turn down any boy who asked for your hand. And so she had capitulated and suffered.

In contrast, it was such a vast difference to the first time that she had danced with Patsy. Alone in Delia's room at the Nurses Home, it had felt delicious to sway in the older woman's arms. It had taken a few songs to get the blonde (at the time) to relax all that formal training. Rigid arm stance became embraceable as sighs became kisses became...well…

Still, as much as she wished that someone more feminine was in her arms now, she knew that it would be too much of a risk here in Nonnatus House. Besides Patsy was on call tonight, and Timothy Turner desperately needed her help.

This had not been their initial plan for the afternoon. It seemed that each of them were eager to find any excuse to avoid talking about this week's designated topic. Willingly distracted, discussion had turned to the weekend.

"Alas, I'll be on call all weekend," Delia sighed.

"I'd rather do that then go to the dance at school," Tim commiserated. "But if I don't go then the lads will make sure I never hear the end of it," he sighed miserably.

Delia's heart broke to see such a kind teenage boy tying himself up in knots. She wasn't so removed from her own socially awkward days not to empathise.

"Haven't you asked any girl to go with you?" Delia asked.

He rolled his eyes so hard that she feared they would pop out from his head.

"Come on, I bet there's plenty of girls who are just waiting by the telephone for Timothy Turner to call," she cajoled cheerfully.

Timothy scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. His eyes fell to the floor.

"I can't even dance," he mourned.

"Oh well, that's easily rectified." Delia stood up. "We can start slowly," she said over her shoulder as she pulled out an Everly Brothers record and put it on.

"You really don't need to do," he said protesting as he stood up.

Delia grinned as she took up his scrawny arms and forced them into a dance position.

"It's my pleasure Tim," she said in a Welsh lilt as the record started.

By the time Fingertips was spinning on the record player, Delia's swollen toes needed a break. Regardless, Tim had managed to loosen up and seemed to have cheered up. As the needle flipped back into place, they heard a slow clap resound through the room. They turned together towards the sound.

"Not bad at all I say," Patsy Mount cheered.

She was leaning against the doorway dressed in her nurse's uniform. She had just returned from an easy birth to the utter delight of her girlfriend's swinging hips. Patsy could watch her girlfriend dance all day.

"Really Tim, this one is a better dancer than I am." Delia pointed toward Patsy as she caught her breath.

"Only if you're looking to take a girl out from Oxford or Mayfair. Society girls only." Patsy gave them a side smile.

"I think I'll stick with where I am," Tim grinned nodding toward Delia.

"My dance card is always free Mr. Turner," Delia winked.

Tim looked at his watch and started to gather his bags.

"Sorry Miss Busby, I have to fly. See you tomorrow!" he yelled as he ran out the door.

"It's Delia!" she hollered to his retreating back.

Patsy laughed at the whole scene. Her girlfriend joined in soon after. In no time at all they were both in stitches, and likely to be sent away for lunacy.

Without thought, Delia naturally clasped her Patsy's hand to keep balance. Looking down, Patsy couldn't help but look to see if anyone was there to see it. Her girlfriend caught her doing so, and let go. Delia became silent suddenly.

The moment was over.

"I'm going to make some tea. Would you care to join me?" Delia offered.

Patsy nodded and followed her into the kitchen. They were silent for a moment as each found themselves at a loss for idle chitchat. Patsy felt a great weight building in the pit of her stomach as she sat down. This forced awkwardness was becoming far too frequent between them. The silence was deafening.

"It was nice to see you enjoying yourself Deels. Should I be worried about Timothy Turner?" she smiled lopsidedly trying to break the tension.

"Oh my swollen feet suggest that he and I have far to go." She sighed and sipped from her cup. "It's wonderful seeing the boys again. Makes me miss when you were scout leader." She grinned to herself.

"I do miss those little scamps." Patsy sighed resignedly.

It was shortly after the South African SOS that she had quit as scout leader to the dismay of the young boys of Poplar. There was just too much to cover and not enough time. Something had to give and Patsy Mount was never one to do things by halves. So she had said goodbye to her Akela uniform. Fortunately, other community members had stepped into the breach. She still got hooted at occasionally by her former charges on the streets of Poplar.

"Pats, do you think that maybe we can talk about getting our own flat? You said that we'd wait until Summer was over, and look the leaves are starting to turn," Delia pointed out the window.

Patsy looked silently into her cup of tea. She didn't want to look into her girlfriend's hopeful face. The redhead shook her head uneasily.

"Deels…" she sighed dejectedly.

"Patsy. It's been 3 years since my accident. I haven't had any head related incidents in 18 months," Delia insisted. "You can't use my health as an excuse," she persisted.

Patsy stayed silent. At these moments she deeply resented how her girlfriend was so pushy about moving forward. Her defensive temper was starting to rise and being in a public area was not a good place to make a scene.

"Delia, can we just talk about this later? In somewhere less public?" she whispered testily.

Not answering, the brunette took her cup of tea and ditched it in the sink. She stood at the sink with her back to Patsy and her head down.

"And when will that be?" Delia asked with a more pronounced Welsh accent than usual. Patsy knew this was not a good sign. She desperately needed a cigarette.

As she opened her mouth to answer, she was saved by the ring of the telephone.

"Phone," Patsy said as she rose to answer it. Delia turned toward her as she rose to leave the room.

Patsy had never been more grateful to the expecting mothers of Poplar.

* * *

Timothy Turner knew that it was wrong to spy. He preferred to think of it in scientific terms. He was gathering data he justified to himself. The young man wasn't interested in learning secrets, or seeing anything disrespectful. Being a snoop too often meant you learned things that you'd rather you didn't. Not to mention getting caught would lead to an unimaginable embarrassment. And that was to be avoided at all costs.

Tim had his camera poised as he crouched in his covert spot facing her window. It was good to be prepared to capture her at an unguarded moment, and that was his objective today. He had been unsuccessful in this mission, over the past few weeks. It wasn't always because she wasn't one to look or lean out of open windows. (He had often seen Nurse Mount and Nurse Franklin leaning out their windows smoking.) Sometimes it was because he got so wrapped up in his observation that he forgot to shoot.

All the boys at school were in love with Nurse Franklin. They pried him for information about her all the time. School mates, and otherwise, hung outside the school on clinic days for hours until Nurse Crane shooed them away. Tim often smirked at them with glee as he strolled right in past the crowd.

"Turner! Two bob for just an introduction mate," they begged.

"Maybe," he offered with his palm out stretched. They turned out their pockets and sighed.

"We'll pay you tomorrow," they catcalled as he turned away shaking his head.

The nurses, as they were commonly known, were all beautiful in their own way. A few years ago he had found himself free to mock and scoff at the mushy-stuff that he witnessed between his parents, however now he took notes. He gathered several interesting texts on the scientific basis of love which mentioned dopamine pathways, evolutionary psychology, and even mother surrogacy. The last one had confused Tim greatly. The object of his feelings was not like the mother he remembered at all. And although she does live in Nonnatus House, she had never worn a habit like Shelagh. Regardless he found this scientific discussion to be more clear than any inconsistent talk of soul mates and the like.

After said research, he decided it was time for some observation in the field. He sought out a chance to see what she was like when no one was looking. Timothy had no doubt that her nature was inherently good (she was a nurse after all) but he did note some hidden sadness beneath her cheery exterior. Every fibre in his being wanted to lessen those moments. Flowers often lifted her despondency, so he searched the stalls for her stated favourites.

He looked up toward her window but didn't see her there. She was older than him, but he was confident that if he just waited a few years then that could be surmounted. Wasn't it Einstein who had said that all time was relative? Timothy Turner believed that waiting for love wasn't useless. It had worked for his dad, so he was willing to believe it was possible for himself.

And he knew that she was worth it.

* * *

Shelagh Turner always had a daily checklist. Being a nurse and a nun had taught her the value of always having a plan. It was never good to fritter away one's time due to disorganisation.

Today's checklist included a trip to the library to pick up some medical texts for Patrick, picture books for Angela, and whatever Timothy had reserved. She knew that some would look down on her for revelling in such mundane tasks. However, these little things were the unexpected joys of Shelagh's new existence.

Gathering her bag and coat, she noticed that her son had left out his history book in the parlour. Picking it up she realised that it wasn't a school book at all, but a tome of Welsh history. Shaking her head, she flipped through it absently. Her fingers naturally drifted to the bookmarked page half-way through the text.

She paused as she noted the photograph being used to place his spot. It was a photograph of Nurse Mount and Nurse Busby appearing to be out of uniform and on a night out. From their expressions they seemed to be unaware of a photographer's presence. Shelagh could see from the quality and size that it had been developed by an amateur. Perhaps even in her own home.

Placing the photograph and the book in her handbag she resigned herself to the fact that she'd have to add a trip to the surgery to her check list. She needed to discuss this with her husband and plan out a new course of action.

It would seem that the situation was more serious than she thought.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank my beta-reader Think_Busby_Think immensely for her help with grammar, Anglicization and story sense. If you have not, I highly recommend checking out her current work "Convergence."

Patsy Mount never thought that she would seek out the opportunity to cycle down by the docks alone. She was not keen on the idea of using work as an excuse to avoid Delia. However, this time she was grateful as being alone gave her a proper chance to think.

She couldn't help but analyse every word and look and breath that had occurred in the kitchen two days ago. They had missed each other ever since due to horrendous early and late shifts. Delia's voice had quivered slightly before Patsy had fled. The redhead was unsure whether that had been in anger or sadness. Sometimes those emotions were far too similar. And Patsy hated to be the cause of either.

Yet, here they were.

In retrospect, 1962 had been the best year of her life. It seemed that she and Deels had gained everything back that they had lost the prior year. In fact, they had gained far more than they had thought possible. Waking up together became a regular occurrence in a nearly empty Nonnatus House as they had stayed to hold down the fort while the majority had gone to South Africa. At first Patsy had been slightly disappointed not to be going, but when she saw the sly smile on Delia's face…

Well, it seemed as if a chance at more privacy had landed in their laps. The ability to be together so intimately was a sweet gift which Patsy had been grateful for every morning that she had awoken in Delia's arms. And yet she now saw that such freedom was dangerously addictive as it was ripped away upon everyone's return. The return to late night visits in and out of beds felt like an unfortunate step backward. Yet they had endured and any chance to be together was cherished and held dear.

Patsy had been jubilant when Delia had ploughed straight into midwifery training. She had long ago settled into midwifery as her calling. It felt like a vocation which now they could share together. It had been like a return to their training days when they had first recognised each other's professional ambition. She felt like it had bonded them further.

Or at least that's what she had presumed.

"We need to talk" the brunette had reached for her hand.

Patsy sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Those are my four least favorite words in the English language."

They had been enjoying a rare night alone. Patsy leaned up against the headboard of Delia's bed. Her girlfriend sat at the foot of the bed facing her. A bottle of wine between them. Delia had been quiet all night, clearly something on her mind. The redhead prepared herself for the worst.

"Please promise me that you will listen. Don't react until I have finished." Her eyes were pleading as Patsy nodded in agreement.

"Pats, I've been offered a job at the London in the Intensive Care Unit. I want to take it." She asserted and finished the glass in her hands.

"Why would you want to go back there? The men are horrid and the women are worse," Patsy argued.

"To you they are. I have always been able to manage it." Delia attested quickly back.

Patsy looked away. She clenched her jaw in anger as she rose toward the door.

"Don't leave Pats. We need to talk this out. I need you to support my decision," she asked in a noticeably thicker Welsh tongue.

Patsy turned around.

"Why would I support something that means we are together less? I said that I would find a way for us to be together." She gestured toward the empty room. "And we are. I'm sorry if it's not good enough for you" Patsy replied haughtily.

"Is this it? Is this all that we will have together?" she asked pointedly. "Because I did not leave Pembrokeshire to settle for a room in a nunnery and birthing other women's babies year after year."

"Clearly you have made your decision, Delia. Thanks for informing me of your plans." she said icily and placed her hand on the doorknob to leave.

She felt her lover's arms clasp her arms around her waist. Her body halted as she felt Delia lean into her back.

"I love you dear. Please don't leave" she asked softly. Patsy turned to face her and her anger melted. Placing her arms around the brunette's neck she leaned in against her forehead as Delia adjusted her arms as a grasp became a hold.

"I just thought that this could be our future," Patsy replied as softly as a whisper.

"Oh cariad, I know that this is your calling. But it's not mine. I want to be a Matron some day," she said earnestly.

"And you will. I know you will" Patsy put on a lopsided smile and kissed her love softly.

So, it had not been a shock when Sister Julienne announced that Nurse Busby was returning to the London. It was announced to cheers and jeers that instead of staying on as a midwife, Delia had leveraged her certificate and training into a higher hospital position. It made every logical sense in Patsy's mind. And yet it still felt like a rejection.

Patsy simply stayed silent as Delia was surrounded by the other nurses.

Nurse Crane sidled up beside her.

"I'll have you know that Sister Julienne and I spent several hours trying to convince her to stay. She remained stubbornly steadfast," Nurse Crane said lowly enough that no one else heard.

"She'll be a matron one day" Patsy said cooly.

"I presume so" Nurse Crane said as she joined the group to congratulate the brunette.

The redhead remained on the fringe of the group that night. To any outsider she maintained a veneer of pride and happiness for her "best" friend. However, she remained separate and a bit detached from the proceedings.

Patsy had been lucky enough to be assigned to clinic the day that Delia had returned to the hospital ward that summer. She welcomed the cacophony and routine that the community of Poplar provided that day. It was a welcome distraction, as she sat recording the day's urine samples.

"It appears that Mrs. Castle has been able to squeeze out some more to send along to Dr. Turner," Nurse Crane announced as she placed the jar on the table.

"Delightful," Patsy looked up ruefully.

Nurse Crane turned to leave, but then pivoted on her heels.

"Nurse Mount, forgive me but you look as if someone has killed your prize pony," Nurse Crane said with blunt compassion.

"I never had a prize pony, I'm afraid," the redheaded nurse replied wryly.

"I thought all you posh girls had ponies," Nurse Crane smiled gently ribbing.

"Not an equestrian, I'm afraid," Patsy smirked as she finished the log on the clipboard and placed it with the others for filing.

Nurse Crane smiled back at the banter. She knew it was a good sign.

The nurses walked together into the hall toward the dissonance of the gymnasium. The elder nurse paused before they reached the door.

"Chin up Nurse Mount. I appreciate that Nurse Busby begins her new rotation at the London today, but you are putting the sour in the lemons to shame." She said softly.

"I'm sorry, Nurse Crane." Patsy lowered her head.

"Just remember: Forward. Always Forward," the elder nurse commanded resolutely. And Patsy had nodded in return. She understood the message and put on a stoic smile.

She had always been good at facades.

As Patsy turned down the street way near the surgery, she saw young Tim Turner sitting on a bench. The young man looked miserable which gave Patsy enough pause to be concerned. She knew of his past medical history and had known the lad since she had arrived in Poplar.

"Young Master Turner. Are you sure that you are quite all right? I don't like that colour on you," Patsy declared as she parked her bike and sat beside him.

"It's nothing to do with my health Nurse...Patsy. I'm completely in remission, the doctor said so," he said confidently.

"That's good to hear. But still you look a bit down in the mouth. Can I help?" she offered. He was a good enough lad, and Patsy missed their times together.

He hesitated. As the redhead waited she took the opportunity to pull out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and sighed with relief as she exhaled the first time. It was her first smoke all day.

"It's just, have you ever had feelings of love for someone that make no sense?" Tim asked awkwardly.

"Tim, does this have to do with the dance at school?" Patsy asked cradling her cigarette.

"Oh no, she wouldn't attend a school dance. And she doesn't go to my school anyway," he answered tensely.

Patsy smiled, remembering her own gauche teenage existence. She knew what it was like to feel gawky around pretty girls who thought themselves above attending a school event.

"I think my best advice would be to just tell her how you feel and see what she says. You might be pleasantly surprised." She stubbed out her spent cigarette. "And if not well then at least you'll know so that you can move on," the redhead continued.

"Easier said than done, I think," Tim sighed dramatically.

"Fortune favours the brave, I've heard it said," Patsy stood and ruffled his hair. She really did miss being around the scouts. "I must fly or Nurse Crane will have my guts for garters." She smiled as she climbed onto her bicycle.

Turning toward him, Patsy still noted his uncertainty. She couldn't help but empathise when her thoughts turned back inward. She and Delia needed to have one those difficult conversations about feelings and future plans. Patsy had avoided things long enough. It was time to take her own advice.

* * *

She sighed as she pushed her old warhorse of a bicycle up a steep incline. She was far too tired to take it on wheels so she had huffed and puffed up the hill. Maybe Delia was correct in pressuring her to give up her cigarettes after all.

Having unpacked her instruments, she weary headed out into the hallway. The redhead was resolved that she would have a long talk with her girlfriend that night. She would wait up if she must. Patsy had to settle things between them about their future. She would make sure of it.

So she was surprised to see the brunette sitting in the parlour. Her smile as she looked up from her book instantly put Patsy at ease.

"Deels" she grinned. "I'm over the moon to see you here," she said enthusiastically as her heart leapt out her chest.

She is so beautiful, Patsy thought instantly. How could she ever manage without her? The redhead broke out in a lopsided smile.

"Pats. Come here," Delia patted the sofa seat next to her.

Patsy walked over, quickly glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," she said as Delia put away her book on a side table. Turning back toward her Patsy became captured by her lover's blue eyes. As she got lost in them, she forgot how to make letters into words which made sentences. The brunette chortled as she grasped Patsy's hand. Patsy's heart skipped for a moment in that way that made her dizzy. This woman contained so much of her heart, the redhead reminded herself.

"Pats," Delia whispered flustered.

"I know that sometimes I'm difficult," she began cautiously. "It takes me a long while to take risks…" she said haltingly.

"Pats…" Delia began squeezing her fingers assuredly.

"It's just…" Patsy began.

"Nurse Mount," she heard from across the room.

Patsy jerked her hand away reflexively. They each turned toward the sound of Doctor Turner's voice.

"Doctor Turner, I…" Delia said with a voice that seemed very far away.

Patsy reminded herself to breathe as her chest constricted.

"I'm sorry to bother you, however I need to speak with you both," he said with utter seriousness.

The women stood up and followed him into Sister Julienne's office.

* * *

"We won't be disturbed in here," he assured them as they all sat down. "I've spoken to Sister Julienne and she said that since this was a personal matter she didn't feel the need to be present," he explained as he lit a cigarette. He offered a pack to each woman who resisted a light despite their nerves.

"Don't worry, you're not facing a firing squad," Patrick Turner tried to say with a wry smile.

Looking at each woman he saw the utter fear in their eyes.

"However, this is a personal matter which is why I have you both here," He turned toward the desk where he picked up a file that was laid on the desk. Leaning against Sister Julienne's broad desk he eased into a casual position while holding the file.

"Please Dr. Turner, what is this about?" Delia Busby asked looking up.

"It came to my attention a while ago that my son was attached to one of the nurses in Nonnatus House," he started.

"Is this about Trixie...Nurse Franklin?" Delia asked.

"No," he chuckled nervously. "I thought that at first too, but when confronted he assured me that it wasn't Nurse Franklin." Dr. Turner stubbed out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. He handed the folder to the brunette nurse.

"I thought that all my son needed was a good heart to heart and he would move on, but then my wife found these photos and we decided that the issue was much more serious," he said gravely.

Nurse Mount looked as if her jaw would shatter. Her jaw muscle jutted out noticeably from how hard she was clenching it. Patrick looked back to Nurse Busby as she opened the folder and sorted through the photos with growing alarm.

"It seems that my son has been studying and spying on you, On duty and off duty," he said hesitantly. "It is quite thorough and detailed. There are notes on the back of each picture with the date that they were taken and location. It looks as if they date starting with a month ago."

"But Doctor, these pictures…" Delia said with a quivering lip.

"While they do depict both of you, it seems that they are mostly focused on Nurse Busby," he said grimly.

"So it seems," the Welsh woman said resignedly as she sorted through the photographs in the file again.

He turned away darkly. Patrick knew that the two women sharing the room with him were frightened out of their minds. While the pictures did not depict anything salacious, it was still the possibility of being surveilled that had brought fear to their eyes. Doctor Turner understood the dire consequences of what might happen to these women if a sign of affection between them was depicted and misinterpreted. His son could possibly uncover and destroy their careers. It was unfair, but this was the burden they carried.

The doctor turned back toward the nurses.

"I assure you my wife and I understand that this is an unfortunate situation. We both believe that you are excellent nurses and feel it would be highly calamitous if my son witnessed something that he would not understand. It could stain the absolutely necessary work of Nonnatus House," he finished resolutely.

"So what do you suggest we should do Doctor Turner?" Nurse Mount said angrily.

Doctor Turner could feel waves of hostility emanating from her. He met her eyes directly.

"Again, I understand that none of this is your fault but still we feel…" he said quickly.

Delia interrupted him stridently.

"I'll speak with him Doctor Turner. As soon as I can," she said firmly.

"Thank you, Nurse Busby. Please let him down gently." He smiled genuinely.

"I'll try my best Doctor Turner," Delia nodded as everyone rose with the natural feeling that this tense filled meeting had concluded.

Doctor Turner stubbed out another cigarette. As he turned back around toward the female couple he saw that Nurse Mount had silently fled.

"Excuse me Doctor Turner," Nurse Busby called over her shoulder as she exited after her.

To Be Continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A big thank you to Think_Busby_Think, who makes everything that much better.

Delia found her girlfriend sitting on her own bed in her room upstairs. A quick glance at the roster on her search of the lower rooms had revealed that Trixie was out on call. Having been on duty all day, Patsy had been assigned recovery time. Barbara was out as well, and Nurse Crane was downstairs on telephone duty. The brunette was assured that they would be alone. From the look of Patsy, it seemed that some privacy was just what they had needed.

Patsy had an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. A lighter shook in her hands. She looked up as Delia entered the room and sat next to her.

"I cannot stop my hands from shaking," she said frustrated.

Delia took each of Patsy hands in her own.

"It is the adrenaline. Just give yourself a minute to calm down," Delia said soothingly. She took the lighter from her hand.

"Delia, can you please?" Patsy pleaded gesturing toward her cigarette which had fallen into her lap.

Delia picked it up.

"All right. Just this once but only so that it will calm you down and frankly I could use one myself," she said as she placed the cigarette to her own lips. She lit it and took a drag slowly.

It had been a long while since she had smoked at all. Honestly, she had only ever started to meet up on smoking breaks with pretty girls like Patience Mount. Once she had begun to see the long term effects of smoking in her patients, she had quit for good. There was nothing more sobering than the sight of a black lung. It had been harder to stem the addiction in her girlfriend who had smoked since she was a teenager.

Delia grimaced at the unfamiliar burn at the back her throat. Exhaling, she placed the cigarette to Patsy's lips and watched her inhale. Taking the lit cigarette she held it and watched an ease come over the woman beside her.

"Thank you dear." Patsy took the cigarette from Delia's hand and tapped the end into the ashtray on the bedroom stand. Still shaking slightly she leaned her head onto Delia's shoulder.

"I thought that was it Deels," she said in a frightened vulnerable tone that only Delia ever heard.

"But it wasn't. We are safe for the moment I presume," Delia said as she rubbed her hand soothingly on Patsy's back.

"Although apparently I have to duel with Timothy Turner at dawn for your hand," she said shakingly.

"Oh darling. No chance. You are the champion fencer." She grinned relieved, as she felt Patsy relax into her.

It was a difficult situation. Breaking the heart of a 15 year-old boy was not ideal in any way. She had become to enjoy their friendship over the past year. They shared a love of learning that had grown past required school work for both of them. He even listened to her talk about Wales, which she missed dearly. Sighing, she took a second drag on Patsy's cigarette.

However, Delia was more disturbed by the intrusion on their secret private lives. While she was positive that the young man meant no harm, she knew that he had to be stopped. The consequences were too dire.

They embraced like that for awhile as they each eased their own fears. Eventually, Patsy released her and fell back onto the bed. Laying on her back she kept her eyes on the ceiling. Delia fell back beside her, but instead turned on her side next to her. They laid like that for awhile. Delia could see Patsy battling within herself as her feelings risked surfacing. She had long become accustomed to these silences as her girlfriend carefully sorted through her own thoughts. Unlike herself, Pats tended to pick things apart tediously. Delia knew not to push her in these moments.

"What are we going to do?" Patsy finally asked.

"It's simple. I will just explain to him that 15 year old boys are not my cup of tea. He will cry on his pillow brokenhearted and then find a girl his own age." She grinned, trying to be light-hearted about the situation.

"But Deels, what if he saw something? What then?" Patsy said still shaken.

"But he didn't. There is no way that he could unless he's got a bloody X-ray telescope on our windows," Delia smirked.

It was true. They had not been to Chelsea in 6 weeks. And mainly down to conflicting shifts they had only had the opportunity for coffee dates during this time. Anything possibly deemed indiscreet had occurred in either Patsy or Delia's bedrooms under lock and key. Unless Timothy had been hiding in their closets there was no way he could have any inkling.

Patsy was quiet for a moment. Delia could see her jaw clench as she fought her emotions. After a few quiet minutes she spoke.

"You know that the guards in the camp, they used to watch us all the time. You couldn't go anywhere without being under watch." She closed her eyes, as if she had travelled back there. Patsy was always this way, whenever she spoke about the camps. It broke Delia's heart to see her reliving such horrible experiences. However she knew that once spoken of, then they ceased to have such power over her girlfriend.

She reached for Patsy's hand and squeezed it gently.

"It feels like that. Not knowing if someone is lying in the shadows, waiting to expose us," Patsy whispered.

"Darling, it is going to be all right. We will deal with this as we have dealt with whatever is thrown in front of us," Delia said soothingly.

They each took a moment in which to collect themselves. Once satisfied that their heart rates had settled, Delia rose.

"Pats, sweetheart you look done in," Delia said empathetically.

"It has been quite the day," Patsy sighed as she started to unbutton the top of her uniform.

"Get some rest sweetheart. All of this will work itself out, I promise," Delia reassured her. Leaning over she placed a kiss on her cheek. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you," she heard in return.

* * *

It was just after 11 pm when her blonde roommate finally slipped in the door.

Patsy turned toward her bed as Nurse Franklin slipped off her shoes and lay down. Having lit a cigarette, her friend sat up leaning against the headboard.

Patsy had been trying to read to calm her mind, but found that all she did was mindlessly stare at the same page. Surrendering to defeat, she closed the book and placed it on the nightstand.

"Success?" Patsy asked drowsily.

"Twins. Boy and a girl. I thought it would never end," she sighed.

"It never does get easier, does it?" Patsy asked empathetically.

"Or my joints just get more stiff. What are you doing here? Is Delia out?" she grinned in return as she tapped her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

It had long become an unspoken understanding between the nurses about their personal lives. Even though she was blonde and flirty and fun, nonetheless Trixie didn't miss a trick. The nurses each had their own dark secrets that they kept for each other.

"No. She just has a lot on her mind and needed some solitude," Patsy said solemnly.

Delia had left a few hours ago weary but still steadfast about what needed to be done. Patsy had felt slightly guilty. It should have been her comforting Deels, not the other way around. Still, it was the roles they played. Delia had always been stronger.

"What happened with Doctor Turner? You were getting pulled in with Delia as I was on my way out. Is it a patient?" Trixie asked as she pulled out her kirby grips and started her skin regime.

"No, it was not a patient. It was a personal matter," Patsy shrugged trying to sound nonchalant.

Trixie turned back toward her with a face full of something that smelled vaguely lemony. She smirked. "Patience Mount. I'll wheedle it out of you eventually. Spare me the effort sweetie," she said coyly.

Patsy rolled her eyes. And then gave in and told her the whole story.

"It is really not that funny Trixie," the redhead said indignantly but with a slight smile.

"Oh sweetie, but it is" she managed between guffaws. "Really, I should feel insulted. It is usually me they all have a crush on. I guess word has made it around that I have a chap," she grinned.

Indeed Trixie had been stepping out with Eugene, a salesman, for at least six months. He was not David Niven, but he was clearly besotted with Trixie and that was all that mattered. It took a few weeks but Trixie finally admitted that she had met him at Alcoholics Anonymous. They knew each other's faults and that meant a great deal. Patsy felt he was of the utmost character and that meant all the world.

"In any case, I am sure Delia will deal with it sweetie. She is remarkably level headed. You really are quite lucky," Trixie said assuredly.

Patsy nodded in agreement. It was both exhausting and nice to be able to speak with her friend about her relationship so openly. Still, such coded language was necessary since both knew the dire consequences of dark secrets. Perhaps someday the world would be different, but until then they settled for willful deniability.

Trixie settled on her bed with a face full of skin creme and an issue of Vogue.

"Friday, we should have a girl's night," she said as she turned a page. "It has been ages since we last went out together. And that Steve McQueen movie is playing at the Cineplex," Trixie offered.

"The one where he escapes from a POW camp?" Patsy asked dubiously.

"All right, we'll go with something lighter. I just miss us all together. Please say you will?" Trixie asked with intense sincerity.

"How can I say no to such a face?" Patsy yawned.

"It is a date then," she smiled as she turned out the light.

* * *

All Shelagh knew was that her stepson seemed to be in a panic. Having gone into his room upon arriving home, she heard the various crashing sounds loudly through a closed door.

"Timothy what is it?" she asked concerned.

Having found the photographs in his room a few days ago she had given them to her husband. She knew that he had discussed them with Nurse Busby and Nurse Mount. Since then she had been anticipating the possibility that her stepson would react in his own way. She did not like the idea of going behind his back and ambushing him emotionally. Still she had wanted to protect two women whom she thought well of professionally.

Admittedly Shelagh struggled with understanding the women's preference for each other, rather than men. It did not coincide with anything that she understood about God's plan for a woman's role. All she saw was a life of unfulfillment and fear for two women who were so full of promise. Despite all that, her life as a nun had taught her kindness and compassion for all. It was not for her to judge how God had created these women.

"Mum!" she heard a strangled cry from her son's room. She marched over and pushed open his bedroom door.

"Timothy Turner, what have I said about yelling in the house? Now, what is the matter?" she asked sternly.

Tim looked up as he was searching through a drawer in his desk. He looked a touch feverish.

"I had a notebook and some library books here. Have you moved them?" he asked in a shrill voice.

"I did take your library books back to the library. They were overdue," she pointed out.

"Mum! I needed those books for a study that I'm conducting," he protested. He reached for his jacket. "I need to get them back as soon as possible," he insisted.

"Timothy, we can not go tonight. Your father will be home soon and then you have proper homework to do. It will just have to wait," Shelagh rationalised as she turned to walk out of the young man's room. He followed her pleadingly with his jacket still on.

"Mum, it can't wait. I need those notes now. I bet they got mixed in with the books and will get thrown away," Tim argued.

"What kind of study is this anyway? Is it for school? Because I did not know that you were studying Welsh for your lessons," Shelagh countered.

"I just need those notes. I don't have to tell you why. Not everything is your business!" he insisted.

Shelagh put a kettle on the hob and started pulling out the makings for dinner.

"Nonetheless, we are not going to the library tonight and that is final. Now your father will be home any minute, so take off that jacket," Shelagh persisted.

She heard Timothy's audible huff as he pulled off his jacket and hung it back up. They each heard the door open as Doctor Turner walked in. Looking up to her husband she saw that they had another visitor.

"We need to talk," Delia Busby said as she entered the room.

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is also posted over at Fanfiction.net, however I thought that I would try cross-posting it here as well. Feel free to leave feedback, it is cherished gold for us writers and very motivating.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Big thanks to Think_Busby_Think for the grammar and sense check. She's really great and everyone should read her work on Convergence and elsewhere. Comments and feedback are always welcome, so drop a line if you have a moment.

Even though he knew it wasn't physically possible, Tim felt his stomach fall to the floor. There was no scenario for which he had planned to ever see Miss Busby in his home. And certainly not one where she wanted to speak to him.

"Tim, Miss Busby is addressing you. Show some manners," his father barked as he crossed over to kiss his wife on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry Miss Busby, I wasn't aware that you were visiting. Would you like a cup of tea?" Shelagh asked graciously.

"Thank you Mrs. Turner, but it's not necessary. I won't be long," Miss Busby turned with a hospitable smile.

Tim watched the exchange keenly. He decided that the gentle nature of the exchange was a good omen. Perhaps Miss Busby wanted to talk about the dance at school or had a science question. She always looked to him to explain complicated theoretical concepts. Longingly, he often thought about the afternoon that they had spent discussing relativity. He had stressed that it meant that time was a flexible fluid object. To him it meant that the years between the two of them weren't as constricting as they seemed. Miss Busby had simply shaken her head.

They didn't always talk of science. Sometimes Miss Busby would talk of a film that she had seen. Or an exhibit that she and Miss Mount had visited. Tim wasn't much interested in the humanities, but he loved to hear her talk about anything. And he wanted to be able to show that he was interested in her subjects as well. For example, he had gone out to the record store and listened to every Stevie Wonder album available. Listening in the booth, he could still picture her ebullient face as little Stevie Wonder sang and played.

Despite his initial nervousness, he broke out into a welcoming grin. He liked the idea that she come all the way to his house to talk to him.

He liked that she needed him.

"Tim, how about we find a place to talk in private?" she asked, looking at his mum and dad.

"There's always my office," his father offered.

"Sounds good," Miss Busby replied. She nodded Tim's way and indicated that he could lead the way.

He led her down the corridor to his dad's office. It was considered a forbidden place if his father was hard at work or with a patient. Otherwise, Tim held fond memories of sitting at the foot of his father's desk building cities of wooden blocks. Now he sat in one of the two chairs, while Miss Busby sat on the other.

She had given her coat to mum upon entering the house. However she still held onto her handbag which rested on her lap.

"So, what is it that we need to talk about Miss Busby?" he asked eagerly.

She looked down wearily to her lap, and then raised her eyes to meet his own. He noticed that the smile on her face didn't meet her eyes. She shook her head, sighing slightly.

"How many times have I said that you can call me Delia?' she said grimly.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologised. "What is this all about?" he continued, slightly more nervous now.

"Tim. We're friends, correct? So I need you to be honest with me," she said carefully.

Tim nodded in agreement.

"I talked to your father a few days ago." She opened her handbag. Pulling out a few photographs that were held within, she placed them on the desk that they sat in front of. Tim leaned over to look at them. His smile quickly turned to a grimace. He shrunk back into his seat.

"Tim, you're not in trouble. But I do need to know: Did you take these pictures?" she asked.

His throat was suddenly filled with a hot ball that he couldn't swallow down. It meant that he couldn't say anything even if he knew what to say.

"I'll take your silence as confirmation." She gathered the photos back up in her hands and offered them to him. "Why were you taking pictures of me? Why were you spying on me?" she asked insistently.

He looked into her face. He saw a strange combination of hurt and confusion. Tim suddenly felt an urgent need to take all that negative emotion away.

"It's not what you think," he said desperately.

"What is it then? Please make me understand," Delia asked in equal measure.

"I was conducting a scientific study," he stuttered. "I needed to conduct observation in different environments and make notes. The photographs are part of the study," Tim continued persistently.

"And why were you studying me Tim?" she asked critically.

"I just want to understand everything about you!" he blurted out exasperated.

She leaned back in her chair, putting space between them as they each caught their breath. Tim shook uncontrollably in his chair. The room that had held such nostalgia before had become suffocating. He desperately wanted to leave as soon as he could.

Miss Busby finally broke the silence as she shoved the photos in his direction. When he wouldn't take them, she placed them on the desk.

"Tim. You do know that we are just friends," she leveled her piercing eyes straight through him. "And that is all we can ever be," she said with grave finality.

He nodded as if in agreement, but really he just wanted to find a way out of this room immediately.

"This spying needs to stop immediately. Do you understand?" she said sternly. Tim could only nod mutely. He had never seen Miss Busby so angry. She vibrated with such angry energy that he felt it hit him like a wave.

"Women are not objects for study, Tim. They are people who can choose what they wish to reveal to whom. Everyone has their right to privacy. Including myself," she said as she rose to leave.

"But…" he said pleadingly.

"Tim, you have lost my trust. It will be difficult to win it back,"she told him determinedly.

"Miss Busby, I'm sorry," he said dejectedly. He suddenly refused to view anything other than the floor.

He heard a sad sigh from above him. Feeling a finger underneath his chin, he couldn't stop from lifting his eyes up to meet hers. The face he saw was full of kindness and compassion. He saw the corners of her lips lift.

"Tim, please understand that I'm really not angry with you. I'm flattered, but my heart is spoken for, so you need to find a girl your own age," she said with a graciousness that reached her eyes. She headed toward the door, but stopped and turned before opening it. "I fear that our afternoon study sessions will need to end. Your father and I agree that now it would be inappropriate. Good luck with your A levels. I'm sure that you will make your parents proud," she ended and exited the office.

* * *

Upon returning to Nonnatus, Delia headed straight to her room. A quick stop at Nurse Crane's room, confirmed her suspicion that Patsy was out on a call. As she flopped onto her bed, she regretted her choice to handle this alone. She had purposely chosen to go to the Turners on a night when Patsy would be on duty. Sparing her girlfriend the drama had been her intention, but now she desperately needed some consolation.

Delia had always been a friendly person. Even when it became clear that some catty nurses judged her for being Welsh, she still greeted them with a smile. Kill them with kindness she had always believed and she had won over her co-workers at the London. It had also drawn in the notoriously prickly Patsy Mount, whom it turned out was a secret sweetheart. Unfortunately she knew that her overt cheerfulness gave some men the wrong impression. Wandering hands were met with a wagging finger and a disapproving eye. She sometimes threw in a Welsh curse for good measure.

Exhausted, she just wanted to curl up in a ball alone and push the sight of Tim Turner's dejected eyes out of her mind. It had been unbearably difficult, and yet she felt that she had done what she needed to do.

She rolled over in the direction of the door to see her lover creeping in. Patsy moved slowly but deliberately toward the bed. She was dressed in flannel pyjamas, having changed after being out all day to assist a difficult labour. Delia lifted her covers inviting Patsy into bed. Patsy scrambled in and wrapped herself around her girlfriend. The brunette sighed and cozied in closer to her lover's warm body.

"I tried to get here as soon as I could," Patsy settled in laying her head on Delia's chest. "What can I do to help?" the redhead asked.  

Delia looked toward her with eyes steadfast.  "Tell me you love me," she asked intently

"I do," Patsy said half-smiling. 

"Tell me that this is worth it," Delia continued. 

"I believe that it is," Patsy kissed the top of her head. 

She sighed. It felt good to have Patsy surrounding her. In the times that they had been able to share a bed in Paris and Brighton, or even just here in Nonnatus, the proximity had kept their relationship alive.

"Please stay," Delia asked.

"Anything that my girlfriend wants, she gets," Patsy said.

Delia turned to face her as she turned on her side. Patsy was the same.

"Pats. I don't want to be selfish. I know that you have a family here and I don't want to make you choose. But if I have learned anything from this experience it is that we need a safe space. And I don't feel safe here anymore."

"Darling, if I could throttle that young man I would," Patsy replied and reached over to clasp Delia's hand.

"Don't blame him. He doesn't know the danger that he's stumbled into," Delia replied.

"How can I blame him for falling in love with you?" Patsy smiled wistfully.

"It's to be expected, I suppose," she said cheekily.

Patsy laughed smirkingly. "No argument from me, Deels," she riposted.

A creak from the hallway broke their revelry. Frozen they both looked toward the door. After a few moments they breathed a sigh of relief.

"I understand your hesitation Pats. Living here has brought us back together. But it's tainted for me now. I need to leave. Soon." Delia insisted as she nuzzled back into Patsy's side.

She clung to her until her eyes drooped heavily and exhaustion took over.

* * *

After Miss Busby left the teenager tore a path straight to his room and closed the door. Flopping on his bed he looked around his room in disgust.

Suddenly, everything that he saw mocked him. The robot models that he had posed so proudly now were embarrassingly childish. His science posters that he had saved all his pocket money to order were now unbearably nerdy.

No wonder that he didn't have a chance with her.

Tim found himself paralysed. He analysed the scene that had just happened in his mind a million times. Waiting, he dared not move until Miss Busby had left the house. A knock on the door stirred him from his daze.

"Tim, your dinner is waiting. Come out and eat," his mum asked good-naturedly.

He knew that it wasn't her fault. Still, every cell in his body vibrated with acrimony. He rose suddenly and pushed past her.

"I'm not hungry mum. Leave me alone," he said over his shoulder.

"Tim, you should eat something dear. Can I at least bring it in on a tray?" his mum asked.

"Do whatever you want" Tim shrugged sullenly.

He sat up as his mum brought in tonight's meal and left it on his desk. She approached him fretfully.

"Tim, I understand that you're upset. Maybe with myself and your father but please know that we only want the best for you." His mum moved toward the door.

"Mum? Can I ask you a question?" Tim asked as he looked toward her.

She stopped and nodded toward him. "Go on" she prodded.

"Did you ever have feelings for anyone before my dad?" he questioned.

She sat down on the bed next to him. "As you know I was married to God before your father, so I suppose I felt love for Him."

"That's not what I mean. Was there no one before you joined the order?" He sighed and shook his head.

"My village in Scotland was very small. Women were only meant to marry a farmer and then have his children who would then become farmers. Farming held no interest to me, so I only focused on getting out of there as fast as I could with my independence available to me" his mum recalled.

"Miss Busby said the same thing about her village" he agreed.

"It seems that her and I, are not all that dissimilar after all" his mum smiled. She ruffled his hair and pointed toward the food tray.

"Eat up. Your food is getting cold" she said as she rose toward the door.

Later on staring at the ceiling, there was one moment that stuck in his mind. Tim was used to being lied to by adults. He understood that sometimes lies were told to be kind, rather than to hurt others. Miss Busby had said that she was spoken for. Yet, Tim could not determine any other suitor. The only other individual that she kept consistent company with was Miss Mount that he had observed. He had not witnessed any other male pursuing Miss Busby in London. Clearly Miss Busby was lying to him to put him off.

Or she had a secret herself.

He became determined to find out who this secret lover was and why he didn't do the gentlemanly thing. Where was this mystery man? Clearly he wasn't worthy of Miss Busby if they weren't already together and married.

Tim decided that he would expose this rogue who was unworthy of Miss Busby's affections. He would save her and she would see that he was worthy of her good books.

Tim Turner would win her back.

_**To be cont.** _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update was long in coming, but November turned into a bit of a nightmare. Big Thanks to Think_Busby_Think for her magical editing skills. I highly suggest checking out her current fic Convergence-it's quite spiffy. Leaving feedback helps us writers out immensely, so please take a moment and do so.

Shelagh Turner had several things on her mind.  

Sitting in the parlour, she wondered when her step-son would ever leave his room.  The last few days had seen him go straight to his room the moment he got home from school.  Only emerging for food or the loo, Shelagh could only get muttered utterances out of him.  

She was utterly fixated by something that her step-son had said the other night.  When he had implied that she and Miss Busby were not that far apart it had given her pause for thought.  For a long while she had considered herself separate from the young nurses of Nonnatus House.  As a young nun she had always been surrounded by older voices who mentored her in how she could feel closer to Him.  She was very grateful for what she had learned from Sister Julienne and Evangelina, even though she had left her calling to marry Patrick.  

Still, she had not expected to find herself finding anything in common with Miss Busby at all.  It had not come to her attention immediately, but Shelagh Turner was not blind.  Having served in Poplar for several years she knew that there were men who preferred sex with only other men.  This was clearly against God’s plan, in her mind, since it could only be meant for pleasure.  Men were arrested for indecency in Poplar for such activities which validated her beliefs.

Shelagh had no idea how to consider women who conducted such sexual activity.  She did not like the idea of condemning any woman for following her own heart.  By leaving the order and marrying Patrick, she had done the same.  She had to believe that Miss Mount and Miss Busby were the same because she believed that they were good women who cared for their patients.  Their love for each other made them different from the norm but it didn’t change their exemplary skills and endless compassion.  

However, Shelagh found herself continually snagged on one aspect: How had she and Miss Busby grown up in similar environments and still end up so different in their own personal preference? Marriage was between a husband and wife, otherwise you were just engaged in sinful activities.  It could not be all that different for a girl that had grown up in the farm country of Wales.  So it begged the question of why would Miss Busby choose such sinful behavior.  Or was it a case of genetic disposition? Shelagh was unsure of what it all meant, however she hoped that it wouldn’t mean any future awkwardness between herself and the young nurse.

As she sat churning these thoughts in her head Patrick entered with a wry smile.

“I really wonder how many times you can listen to one record before even the record player decides it can’t play anymore,” Patrick lamented.  

“I happen to like Stevie Wonder so I don’t mind,” Shelagh demurred.  “Will you please just tell him that he’s not grounded anymore? I think having his heart broken was lesson enough,” she asked her husband.  

“We have to stand firm or he won’t take us seriously,” Patrick refused to yield.  

Shelagh did not like to disagree with her husband regarding his discipline of Timothy, however she did audibly sigh at his stubbornness. As they sat in silence a new record came on blasting “Walk Like A Man” throughout the house.  

Patrick groaned and laid down his medical journal.  

“Fine.  You win. I’ll free him from captivity, however only so that he can join me this afternoon,” he capitulated.  

“To do what dear? I thought you had the afternoon off,” Shelagh asked.

“He can help me and Fred make some repairs at Nonnatus,” Patrick declared.  

“Patrick, I don't really think that’s a good idea,” Shelagh replied with a worried look.

“Why not?” he queried.

“Don’t you think that’s rubbing his nose in it?  Suppose that she’s there.  It would make it all terribly awkward,” she explained.  

Getting up from the parlour she headed to the kitchen to put on the kettle.  Patrick followed her in and leaned on the counter watching his wife as she grabbed she grabbed the caddy and spooned tea into the teapot before retrieving some cups.    

“That’s all over and done with dear.  I believe Nurse Busby gave him a stern talking to and he has pledged to me that he has a new plan,” Patrick reassured her.  

Patrick had checked in with his son the next day when he had come home from the surgery.  He could clearly see that Timothy was not his usual self.  It wasn’t easy to see him broken-hearted, however he wasn’t interested in molly-coddling him either.  

“All right dear, but will you please keep track of him?  I don’t like the idea of this escalating any further.  If Sister Julienne ends up becoming involved…” she fretted.

Patrick leaned in and took her hand.  

“Dear, Sister Julienne is wisely keeping her distance.  And really I think Miss Busby has the ability of handling anything that is thrown at her,” he reassured.  

“I certainly hope so,” Shelagh replied.  

* * *

During the day, Trixie had slipped into the brunette nurse's room. Delia looked a bit surprised as she looked up from her novel as the blonde closed the door behind her. It was unusual to gain a visit to her room from anyone other than Patsy.  Especially from Trixie whom she knew but wasn’t close with in the same way as her girlfriend.  

“Trixie, what brings you here? Patsy’s not here, she’s on district rounds,” Delia said gesturing around the otherwise empty box room.  

“No, sweetie, I’m not looking for Patsy.  I’d like to talk to you, if you have a moment."  She moved to sit on the bed.  Delia made room for her and placed her novel on the night stand. She grasped her cardigan nervously.  

“What about?” she asked.

Trixie had to take a moment to consider how to phrase her thoughts.  Words had to be carefully chosen when talking about certain relationships. The blonde nurse was aware of the tricky rope on which she was trying to balance.

“I know what it’s like to put on a show.  I believe that Patsy does too.  It’s why we get on so well.  A mutual agreement to put on a bright face and crack on," she smiled broadly in a way that she’d done a million times.  

“It’s true that sometimes I get wrapped up in my own little troubles, I know that Patsy has not been happy for some time,” she paused gathering up her strength.  “And I know that her happiness is intertwined with yours” she arched her eyebrow toward the younger nurse.  Delia sat motionless, but Trixie could see a flurry of activity beneath the surface.  

“As a nurse I’m trained to help, so how can I help?” Trixie asked reaching out her hand toward Delia’s which rested on the bedspread.

The Welsh woman paused for a moment considering her response.  

“You are a good friend.  Pats is lucky to have you,” she said assuredly.  Looking downward, Delia shook her head.  

“I think that I am the cause of her distress,” she sighed. “Have you ever felt as if you were so close to having everything that you had every wanted?” she asked.  

Trixie nodded.

“Of course sweetie,” she answered.  

“She is so afraid of losing happiness that she has lost the will to risk grasping it,” Delia smiled.  “But I’m not and I fought like hell to get here. I can’t help it. I want it all,” she concluded. “Do you understand?” she concluded.  

“Yes I do,” Trixie said slightly choked up. “So, how can I help my friends?” she asked earnestly.  

“I don’t know.  It just feels as if this business with the Turners has rattled us both,” Delia sighed.  “It’s dredged up an urgent fear which has me on edge.”

Trixie listened to Delia outline what had happened between her and Timothy Turner.  While she already knew half the story from Patsy, she had not heard the new developments.  Delia seemed unsure, fearing that her warning needed reinforcing with the young man.  And she feared that Patsy’s protectiveness would lead to dire consequences.  

“Perhaps a film might be able to ease the tension? We can go see something frivolous and superficial,” Trixie offered.

“A film? You don’t need to twist my arm,” Delia smiled.  

“I’ll arrange it,” Trixie nodded with certainty.

* * *

A day later, the blonde nurse was parking her bike having done some errands around Poplar. Trixie had long found all the hiding places at Nonnatus.  It had never been her plan to be living with a group of nuns as she neared the age of thirty.  Yet, she loved being a part of such a community of women doing good works in a community that needed it.  It provided her with a purpose that fulfilled her.  And often saved her from her own worst tendencies.

Still, even she needed some solitude and a break from all the wimples.  Grabbing a quick cigarette while off duty out by the garden shed, she allowed herself some time to breathe.  She was quite put out when a heavy clatter disturbed the one moment of quiet that she had been allowed all day.

“What is that clatter?” she demanded as she approached the young man who seemed to be the source of it all.

Of all people she was flummoxed to come upon Timothy Turner searching frantically around the Nonnatus shed. He froze while holding in one hand a bird cage and in the other a bike tyre.  Despite herself, Trixie let out a giggle at such a sight.  

“So? Go on. I haven't got all day,” she demanded.  

“I was trying to find some roof tiles that Fred said are back here,” he explained.

“No luck sweetie?” She giggled and took a drag off her cigarette.  He nodded in reply and ditched the junk that he had been holding into an already growing pile.  

Tim looked back at the pile considering himself dismissed by Trixie’s silence.  Having finished her cigarette, Trixie dropped it to the ground to stub it out.  Turning to exit the shed, Trixie stopped.  She knew that she should not meddle, but she couldn’t help but speak.  

“Tim,” she waited for him to turn around. “I shouldn’t do this.  But I need to tell you,” she paused dramatically. “Nurse Mount might be arriving here at anytime. And she’s not too keen on you at the moment.”

“Why?” he gulped.

“I think you know why sweetie,” she smiled. “She and Nurse Busby are very close friends.  Joined at the hip even.  She’s not pleased with being surveilled either, so I’d make yourself scarce,” she warned.

She saw his face drop and took pity on him.  

“You really didn't think that Nurse Mount wouldn’t be perturbed that you had been following around her best friend with a camera?  Not to mention taking pictures of her as well? Tim, it is unseemly,” she stated. “And saying that it was because you had a crush doesn’t redeem you.”

“I wasn't thinking straight,” he said into the floor.  

Trixie leaned down to the teenage boy's level and lifted his chin to meet his eyes head on.

“Tim, why do you think they call it a crush? Because that is how you feel when the other doesn’t feel the same way,” she said softly.  “And Delia Busby will never feel the same way.”

“Is she really seeing someone else?” he asked in a small voice.  

“Sweetie she is taken and very lucky to find someone so devoted."  She raised herself up.  Heading out the door she looked over her shoulder.  

“And Tim,” she looked him up and down.  “You’re never going to get any girl if you look so old hat.  Try a change with your hair,” she smirked as she exited.

* * *

Given her charge, Trixie had made film night happen that weekend.

She had managed to get Sister Julienne to work the rota so that at least herself, Barbara, and Patsy had the night off.  It had required some sacrifice during the week ahead.  Trixie had insisted that the nurses needed a break after a great many difficult births. Sister Julienne had capitulated and it seemed that an evening at the cinema was now in the works.  

She knew that it wouldn't take much to get Barbara to agree.  Just a simpering look and the brunette fell over like a tipped domino.  And once Delia was in, then Patsy’s inclusion was a foregone conclusion.  

They had gone to see an Elvis feature.  It was unremarkable and forgotten quickly.  

However it had been an evening that Patsy and Delia had dreadfully needed.  Giggling at the silly antics, Patsy felt her heart lighten. Judgemental eye rolls were more fun when one had someone to share them with and it didn’t stop when they arrived back at Nonnatus.

Lying beside each other in Delia’s bed, they had tangled up in each other although they were still fully clothed. A teasing look in her eye, Patsy smirked as she stroked her girlfriend’s cheek. She found it hard to control her need to feel her girlfriend everywhere. Her lips wanted to feel the brunette’s skin.  A sigh escaped her lips.

“You are so beautiful tonight,” she whispered as her hands drifted to her girlfriend’s waist.  

“Such flattery, Patience Mount,” the brunette purred. “If you think that such talk will make up for the fact that you made me sit through an Elvis film than you are mistaken,” she grinned.

“Deels, it wasn’t my choice. Trixie was in charge of the film,” Patsy protested.

“Do you think that I should wear bikinis like those girls in Acapulco?” Delia asked in a low voice.

“Deels!” she laughed as a red blush creeped across her cheeks.

Delia leaned in closer as she whispered in Patsy’s ear.

“You seem to be getting a little hot under the collar Nurse Mount,” Delia laughed as her fingers trailed up to unbutton her girlfriend’s shirt. Patsy shooed away her wandering fingers.

“Not tonight darling. There’s no time for such cavorting,” Patsy warned.

Delia could only pout.

“Fine. I’ll just have to keep myself warm tonight then,” she smirked. “But thank you Pats, despite the film being dreadful it was good to get out.”

“Speaking of getting out, when do you think that you will next be free to go out?” Patsy asked with a lopsided smile.

Delia huffed and laid her head back working through the rota in her mind.  

“I’ll next be free on Wednesday provided there is no catastrophe, then I’m all yours,” she offered.  “Why what are you planning in that gorgeous head of yours?” she whispered into her girlfriend’s ear.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been to the Gates. I think we’re long overdue,” Patsy grinned.

“Pats! If you’re teasing me…” the Welsh brunette rolled herself on top of her girlfriend trapping her with her thighs on each side.

“Deels!” she said breathlessly but with a hint of lust in her eyes. Despite her protestations her will was weak in the midst of such contact.

Delia leaned back as she straddled Patsy’s lap.  

“You know it’s too bad that I can’t show you how pleased you’ve made me,” the brunette said with a hint of mischief.  

“Trixie’s waiting down the hall to talk all about Acapulco, so it’ll have to wait,” Patsy protested.  

“Fine,” Delia huffed.  She lifted herself off Patsy and settled in again beside her.  Another put upon pout came over Delia’s features.  “Gateways on Wednesday it is then. Go on,” she shooed Patsy away with a playful smile on her lips.  

Patsy put on a look of mock outrage as she got up and straightened her clothes.

“If I can’t have you now, then I’ll just have to settle for my own fantasies,” Delia smiled.  “And I can assure you, there’s no Elvis Presley involved.”

_TBC_

  
  
 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you immensely to Think_Busby_Think for her help with the Britishisms and grammar that I’ll understand some day. You should check her fics-they are particularly spiffy. Feel free to leave some feedback. It would certainly give me some holiday cheer.

 

“Dear, please tell me that you didn’t do that to my son’s hair on purpose?” Patrick asked smirking over his cup of coffee.  

Looking up at his son, he just couldn’t believe his eyes.  Having been out late the night before in surgery, his family had been asleep when he had made it home.  He had expected to be tired in the morning, but this sudden change was a bit of a shock.

“Timothy simply asked to get his haircut in a new style,” Shelagh explained in an even voice.  

“I wanted a change dad.  It’s all part of the new plan,” Tim said confidently.  

He had poured over magazines at the shop trying to imagine different looks.  Having narrowed it down to three possibilities, he figured that he would give each look a trial period and measure the results.  After enough time, he would decide depending upon success or failure.  With his options and criteria clearly defined, he took an example to his mum, who had traditionally given him haircuts.  

Shelagh had sighed wearily but eventually gave in to her stepson’s eagerness. His excitement was a welcome change, even if it was just over a change in appearance.

“Well, I just never thought that I’d have a son who sported a fringe,” Patrick said dryly.

Tim rolled his eyes.

“Mick Jagger does it! And he dates models,” Tim said as if that settled the debate irrevocably.  

“All right, well at least you won’t be stealing my Brylcream anymore.” Patrick looked back to his paper.

They ate in silence for a moment as Shelagh looked after Angela in the parlour.

“Dad?” Tim started hesitantly. “Since I’m not grounded and it’s school holidays, can I go and see the new Steve McQueen film? Everybody’s going so we will be in a group,” he asked.  

“Is that the one where he escapes from a POW camp?” Patrick asked looking up from the sports page.  

“It’s practically historical,” he argued.

Patrick chuckled and shook his head at the very idea. He paused thinking it over.

“And how will you get there?” he asked.

“Michael’s mum will drive us.  The closest pictures showing the film is in Chelsea,” he said as he scooped up some eggs.

“That’s nearly an hour away. Isn’t there a film closer that you can go to?” he asked pointedly.

“Dad! It’s Steve McQueen and she’ll pick us up afterward too.  She plans on doing some Christmas shopping in Soho,” he said and popped some toast into his mouth.  

“All right.  You can go.  But only as a reward for all the hard work you’ve done helping me and Fred at Nonnatus,” he gave in as he turned back to his paper.  

“Doing good works is its own reward, but can I have some money for popcorn?” Tim asked.

“Don’t push your luck son. I’m already letting you out the door with that mop on your head,” Patrick turned back to the football scores.

Shelagh walked in and placed some coins in her stepson’s hand. Patrick shook his head in mock disapproval. Tim’s face broke out into a grin that threatened to split his face.  

“Now we’ve got to get to the clinic, dear. Tim will you…” Shelagh started.

“Watch Angela until noon, then drop her off and bring your lunch,” he repeated by rote, as if it were an amateur maths formula. He then took his bowl to the sink.

Shelagh felt her heart grow three times as she saw her two men seemingly in good spirits as she re-entered the kitchen.  All seemed to be back in balance with her family again.

Tim headed into the front room where he unfurled his notes on Delia Busby.  He had recreated them from memory in the days that he was house bound.  Then he cross referenced his notes with what traits it seemed that women valued based on the magazines that he had purchased at the newsagent.  He was confident that he would be able to create a profile of whomever this secret boyfriend could be, or if he even could exist.  

Timothy Turner was determined to figure this out.

* * *

Lunches in hand, Timothy headed into the clinic.  He had been nervous about debuting his new look.  However, he remembered when Nurse Mount had told him that fortune favoured the brave.  He grinned at the fond memory, but then remembered that he was in Nurse Mount’s bad books. Resolving to find something to do to bridge the gap between them, Tim wrote an apology letter that he would drop off at the clinic.  Perhaps it would get him closer to Miss Busby again, since she was best friends with the ginger-haired nurse.  It couldn’t hurt at any rate.  

As he approached the building, he saw Michael and John waiting for him. They had all agreed to meet up there before the film.  Michael’s mum would be driving them later, but they wanted to play games beforehand.

“Turner! What have you done?” John reached up toward Tim’s head.

“I think my mum has that kind of fringe,” Michael snickered.  

“This guys is the future. You’ll see,” Tim gestured to his head.  

“If you end up pulling any birds with that mop then I give up,” John threw his hands up.

“I’m only looking to get the attention of one woman,” Tim said confidently.  

“Oh listen to that, mates, Turner and his fringe are on the make,” Michael said with mock credulity.

“Excuse me sweeties, you’re in my way,” they heard as Nurse Franklin waited impatiently in her nurse uniform.  The two boys jumped a foot high at the sound of the blonde nurse.  Instantly mumbling apologies to the ground they moved to one side. Walking toward the doors, Tim saw that the blonde was laden down carrying supplies.  He leaped toward the doors to hold them open for Nurse Franklin.  

“Why thank you dear! Also nice haircut Mr. Turner,” she grinned with a genuine sparkle in her eyes.  “I approve,” she winked at Tim having given him the once over.  Looking over his shoulder he smirked at the other boys who shook their heads in disbelief.  

He headed through the bustling clinic area and headed to the table where he knew Shelagh would be set up.  Looking around, he saw Nurse Mount looking over the day’s patient list.  

“Nurse Mount,” he greeted her nervously.  Looking up she fixed him with an icy glare.  

He audibly gulped as he held up the packed lunches he was meant to deliver.  

“Lunch delivery for the Turners,” he said in a shaky high pitched tight voice.  Pushing a grin onto his face, he waited for Nurse Mount’s eyes to regain their friendly countenance.  They didn’t.  

“You can drop them off in the office,” she gestured down the hall.  

Looking past him, she greeted the new patients that had lined up behind him.  Her brisk voice maintained a politeness, but he could tell the difference with which she had clinically dealt with him.  In his experience, Nurse Mount had one of the most efficient no-nonsense professional facades that he had ever seen.  He had also seen her out of uniform, and knew that underneath that cold demeanour was a deep compassion.

Dropping off the lunches on his dad’s desk he then sneaked into the coat area.  Looking through the standard issue Macs he narrowed in on what he knew was Nurse Mount’s.  It was confirmed by her initials that were stitched in the collar tag.  After slipping an envelope into the coat's pocket, he headed outside where his friends were waiting.  

* * *

“I tell you Pats, I would not object to the acquisition of automobile,” Delia smirked as they sat cuddled close together in a booth.  

Gateways was full of such areas, each filled with couples not unlike the two nurses.  Delia laid her head on Patsy's shoulder more through exhaustion from dancing than the hour.  It was still relatively early by club standards.  Unfortunately the hour's bus ride to Chelsea rather cut down on their dancing time.  

“Might I remind you, that I’m the only one who would be able to drive it,” Patsy teased.

“Only because you had the opportunity.  I’d like to see you try and operate a tractor,” she protested.

“Dear, I suspect that would be quite the sight down the Commercial Road,” she reposted.  Patsy openly laughed at the very picture of it in her mind.  

Delia poked her in the ribs in mock dismay.  

“I’ll show you, Patience Mount,” she said determinedly and raised her glass of gin. “I resolve next year to get my own licence! I’m sure Nurse Crane would teach me like she has Barbara,”   then she threw the liquid down her throat dramatically.  

“I have no doubt that you will be brilliant,” Patsy nuzzled closer. Her chest warmed as she relished the experience of Delia being Delia.  “However, I rather think that might be a bit difficult when we leave Nonnatus,” she whispered.  

Delia leaned back and looked into Patsy’s face dumbfounded.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked.

Patsy took Delia’s hands and wrapped them in her own. She nodded and squeezed her lover’s hand. Delia smiled as her blue eyes lit up.

“I could kiss you Patsy Mount,” Delia waited. “But why now? It’s just that you’ve been so hesitant dear,” Delia asked.    

Patsy released her hands and reached into her handbag.  She pulled out two things: A folded piece of paper and an opened envelope.  

“I’m so sorry,” she paused, a bit choked up.  Taking a sip from her glass of water she took a moment to compose her thoughts.

“I have let myself down and I have let you down,” Patsy said in a soft voice.  

“This was in my coat this afternoon,” she sighed.  She slid the envelope across the table.  Delia took it and scanned it quickly.

“Ever since we talked to Mr. Turner about the photographs, I’ve been harbouring such coldness toward that teenage boy.  I lumped him in with every man who has treated me terribly.  Every man who treated you badly. But he’s just a boy.  The same boy that I’ve taught in Cubs. The same boy whom Shelagh makes a sandwich for every morning. I need to rise above this anger and fear. And move on. As should you and I. Forward, always Forward,” Patsy finished.  

She paused, her emotions dancing under the surface.  Remembering that they were in a public place she took a breath and pushed a grin on her face. Leaning back into the booth, the redhead put her arms around her girlfriend’s waist.  

“We can find a place where we can close the door and not worry even about sitting on the settee listening to records, or whatever you’d like to do,” she rambled getting lost in the many words that she meant to say.

“Dear.”  Delia reached her hand out to take the piece of paper that laid on the table. She turned it over and looked at it herself.  She looked to Patsy for an explanation.

“I made some calls this afternoon.  My father has always kept money in an account and I know that we can find somewhere rather nice.  No offence, darling, but I’d rather not live in a hovel this time.”

She pointed to the listings.

“There are some rather nice houses between Nonnatus and the London.  We can go and see them together as soon as you like,” she said with a lopsided smile.

“Well, Patience Mount. I think this deserves some celebratory dancing,” Delia said with a broad smile.  She leaned in and kissed her softly.

“I’d never need an excuse to dance with you Delia Busby,” Patsy responded softly.

* * *

 

The teenage boys waited anxiously on the King’s Road for their ride home.  The film had finished a little later than they’d thought it would so they lingered on the corner of  Bramerton Street .   

“You told your mum to get us right? It’s getting late,” Tim asked as he looked at his watch.  

“Of course I did Turner.  Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Michael protested.  

“I just don’t want my parents to worry.  Maybe I should find a phone box."  He looked around.  He saw a green door which seemed to be the entry to a club.  “I could try that club there.  They might just let me use the telephone inside,” he offered.

“If it means you’ll quit whining then go ahead, but if my mum comes then we’re leaving you behind,” Michael warned.  

Tim turned around and hurried toward the club with the green door.  Noting the sign on the door he rang the bell.  The door opened to a woman who quickly gave him the once over and made to shut the door.  Tim quickly moved his foot to stop it.  

“Bugger off young man,” the woman growled.  

“I just need a telephone.  My ride home is late and I don’t want my mum to worry.  Can I just come in to call her? I’ll go straight to the telephone and straight out. Scout’s Honour,” he smiled.

The woman chuckled and looked over her shoulder.  

“Gina! This lad wants to use the phone to call his parents,” the door woman hollered.

“Fo’fucks sake.  Just walk him back to my office,” he heard as another woman strolled up and opened the door a bit wider.  

“You keep your head down and forget what you see inside?” the doorwoman asked in a challenging tone.  

Tim nodded.  He had accompanied his father to all sorts of places.  A club was no big difference to the young man.  

“All right c'mon.  Haven’t got all day,” she beckoned him through.  

He followed the woman through a smoky hallway and down a dodgy staircase.  Looking around he noticed that the place was occupied by females predominantly.  Music played loudly from a jukebox and the heat climbed as he headed through a back hallway to an office area.  

“Right in there,” the woman gestured as she lit a cigarette of her own.  

 

He went into the office which looked not dissimilar to his father’s own at the hospital. All offices contained the same components he observed.  Grabbing the telephone he gave the operator his number and waited.  

“Turner residence, Shelagh Turner speaking,” his mum answered.  

“Mum, It’s just me.  I can’t talk long, but Michael’s mum is running late so I didn’t want you to worry,”  Tim reassured her.    

“Where are you calling from?” Shelagh asked.  

“Nowhere, just a phone box,” he responded trying to muffle the noise from outside the office.  

“Should I get your father to come and get you lads?” Shelagh asked worriedly.  

“No mum!  We’re just a little late that's all.  The film overran but I’ll be home soon.  Gotta go,” he said quickly.  They said their goodbyes and he hung up the telephone.

 

Going out into the hallway, he noted the same woman waiting for him.  She stubbed out her cigarette and grunted at him to follow her out.  

“Straight out,” she growled.  

Tim tried his best to keep his head down as he followed her.  Still his curiosity got the better of him and he looked towards the crowded bar area.  His eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar pair of faces.  Quickly, he snapped his eyes back to the woman in front of him who was nearing the door.  

“Straight in and straight out Gina,” she said as she pushed him out into the street.  

“Well, never let it be said that I’m not full of charity to men and women alike,” she chuckled.  

“Now scarper.  And forget that you ever saw this place,” the doorwoman pointed.  

 

Tim headed back to where Michael and John waited.  A few minutes later a car pulled up and Michael’s mum urged them to get in.  

“Sorry lads, you know what it’s like when you’re shopping at this time of year,” she said as the boys piled in.  

“Better drop Turner off first mum.  He even had to call them he was such a worry-wart about being late,” Michael ribbed him.  

“This boy is an example to you. He doesn’t want to worry his parents, unlike you wretched son of mine.  Remind me to give you some money for the call before you get out,” she offered.  

“Oh that’s all right,  I didn’t need any money.  A place with a green door let me in and I made a call from there,” he answered.  

“Green door? They let you in there?” she said incredulously. He nodded.  “That’s a ladies club. I hear, men never go in there,” she said.  

“Maybe they mistook you for a girl with that hair,” John jeered from the back seat.  

“Shut it you,” she shouted back.  Turning her attention to the radio, Tim looked out the window.  

Having other things on his mind, Tim didn’t hear the ensuing argument.

It made sense that he had seen Miss Busby and Miss Mount in a ladies club.  They were women after all, and perhaps they had only wanted female company that night. But that didn’t explain what he had seen when he had seen them shoulder to shoulder at the bar. Miss Mount had playfully plucked a bit of fluff from Miss Busby’s front in such an intimate manner.  Even from across the room he had felt an electric charge between the two women.  Then they had intertwined hands as they ordered from the bar.  

It had felt like he had been intruding on a moment, and he didn’t know why.  

 

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A massive thanks to Think_Busby_Think, who wrangles my grammar into shape. She’s a brilliant writer in her own right which is well worth a look. Of course feedback is always welcome. Reviews motivate new chapters as much as being trapped by snow.

“This is the fifth house today, Pats,” Delia stated as they stood in the kitchen.

Patsy looked around the house that they had just finished being led through by the agent.  She understood Delia’s frustration.  She also felt tired from having been led through four previous perfectly acceptable houses.  Each had the requisite requirements that each woman set down: 2+ bedrooms, a decent sized kitchen, a space for bicycles, a lack of nosey neighbours, and if possible, some garden space or at least the possibility of a window sill garden. Patsy was willing to concede to that. It was even located an even distance between Nonnatus House and the London.  

Still, Patsy had insisted that every option should be explored.  No judgement should be made in haste, she said brusquely.  Delia capitulated to her lover’s strong will but only because she understood that sometimes patience was rewarded.  However upon arrival to this house, Delia was convinced.  This was the house where they could build a future.  

“We will have to have a phone line installed,” Patsy remarked.  

“Easily done.  If my mam could get one at her house in Pembrokeshire it can’t be a problem getting one done in the heart of London,” Delia smirked.  

Patsy considered the place for a moment.  She weighed up all the possibilities.  No reasonable objection could be made.  

“Darling, there are only two bedrooms.  No guest bedroom I’m afraid,” Patsy smirked.   

“Pats.  Mam can just use one of the bedrooms and we’ll just have to share the other,” she chuckled.  

“Damn.  I suppose that settles it.”  She paused for dramatic effect.  “We’ll just have to take this perfect house and allow your family to stay if needs be,” Patsy gave her love a lopsided smile.  

Delia laughed gloriously and spun in delight.  

* * *

“We have been here before Nurse Mount,” Sister Julienne said laughingly from behind her desk.  

“I know Sister Julienne.  And the same reasoning applies, Sister.  It’s time that I gained some independence and Delia...Nurse Busby... has been eager for some time,” Patsy replied.

“You will both be greatly missed,” Sister Julienne smiled sincerely.

“We can’t properly move in until January 2nd it seems, so you will be stuck with us for a few more weeks,” Patsy smiled in return.  

She had truly found a family and home in Nonnatus House.  The only real home that she had ever known if she was honest.  Patsy knew that such places were rare in this world.  She was grateful for her experiences in this house over the past 4 years.  It had truly saved her humanity at its greatest moment of despair.  

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love,” Sister Julienne quoted.  “I wish you both all the best,” Sister Julienne beamed gracefully.  

She paused as Patsy soaked in the Sister’s loving nature.  Patsy had never been a religious sort, but these sisters had been the greatest example of human compassion.  

“And know that you both have an open space here at Nonnatus House,” she offered.  

“Thank you Sister,” Patsy said as she rose from her seat.  

* * *

Tim was not sure whether John was his best mate.  But the fact that he had agreed to journey out to Soho after the “bangs haircut” debacle was encouraging.  After 3 days of unmitigated stick Tim had decided that perhaps a more “Steve McQueen” haircut might be worth trying.  Shelagh had quickly agreed and brought out the scissors.

He had read that it was a psychological fact that men between the ages of 12-18 created social relationships that lasted for the rest of their lives.  Tim had spent several years of his childhood either sick or feeling isolated from others his age.  Since starting grammar school he had built up a few chums that he could hang out with and play football on occasion.  It was a great start.  

Also it helped when you needed a look out.  

Tim had churned over in his mind what he had witnessed a million times.  It had only been for a split second but he knew that he had seen Miss Busby and Miss Mount that night.  Miss Mount’s ginger beehive stuck out in any crowd.  His keen sense of observation had quickly taken in everything that he could discern and process at that moment.  He applied the Scientific Method that his father had taught him early in life.

Lying in bed he had stared at the ceiling and processed the facts that he knew.  Miss Busby and Miss Mount had always been joined at the hip.  It was not unusual for him to see them at a ladies club.  He had also observed girls being physically close to each other, even holding hands on occasion.  None of this should seem out of order.  

And yet it did.  

What he couldn’t make sense of was the sudden effect that he had felt observing the two women. It had felt like he had seen sparks in the air between them.  Thinking back, it wasn’t all that dissimilar to what he had seen between his dad and Sister Bernadette.  Still, as a child he had not completely understood the depth of feeling that his parents had shared.  He had just known that it made his father smile, and that had been all that he had needed to know.

It added another piece to the puzzle that was Delia Busby.  After a month of brooding he knew that he had to move on from his heartache over the Welsh nurse.  It had been a fascination that he could chalk up to inevitable hormones.  He had misunderstood her friendliness and easy smiles for interest.  A need for possession of her had overtaken him and it had ruined a friendship.  Perhaps by helping her he could gain back her trust.  Tim understood that he wasn’t supposed to be involved with other people’s business but it had helped with his father and Shelagh.  So, maybe it might help him get into Delia Busby’s good books again.  

Still, some research was needed and he needed a partner.  

John stood at the end of the side alleyway while Tim looked for a side door.  They had found the ladies club on King’s Road easily enough.  Still there was no sign on the door. Not even any indication that there was a club at all.  

“Hurry it up Turner!” John hissed.

Tim knew that every club had a side door for deliveries and staff.  His father used them often whenever he been called on medical emergencies and wanted to avoid the crowd.  He was just searching for a name to the club so that he could look further into it.  

“Turner! Heads up, delivery coming in!” John whispered loudly down the alley.  

Trapped as he saw the delivery lorry go down the alleyway, he saw an opportunity arise.  Swiftly he ducked behind some rubbish bins.  Making himself as small as he could, Tim calmed his breathing.  He heard the side door creak open and the telltale sounds of barrels rolling out.  Raising his head over the bins he spied a woman watching the delivery man unload his lorry.  She smoked a cigarette and looked over some paperwork.  Tim recognised her from last week as the woman who let him use her office phone.

“Some day. You and Me.  Brighton Beach.  What do you think?” the delivery man smirked.  

“Dream on.  You’ve got the wrong parts for me,” she said eyes glued as she looked over the clipboard.  “I think we may need to order more kegs during the holidays Jerry,” she signed and handed over the papers.

“Dykes sure drink it up for the holidays,” he bantered.

“Gateways is a ladies club,” she warned.  “We don’t use that language out here,” she whispered in a growling voice.   

“Meant nothing by it Gina.  Let us know if you need an emergency delivery should you be running low,” he shouted as he climbed back into the lorry.  

John had disappeared but Tim assumed he was waiting for the coast to clear. Tim waited for the woman to finish her cigarette and go inside. He looked down just as he felt some movement below him.  At that moment a nice large rat decided to cross over Tim’s brown plimsolls.  Leaping up, he yelped in shock.  Even more shocked was Gina who had just finished her cigarette.  

“You little shit! What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted charging toward him.  

Tim turned on his heels and ran without looking back.  

* * *

Catching his breath, Tim finally stopped running and slumped down onto the park bench.  He searched for John in the street outside Chelsea Book Shoppe.  It was a pre-arranged meet up spot if they got separated.  Tim looked around and saw John sauntering up the opposite end of the street.

He waved him over.

“Thought you were a goner once I heard that woman come out,” John said exasperated.  

“A lucky escape,” Tim grinned.

“Well, go on,” John motioned toward the bookshop.  As a cover if asked, Tim was going to buy a comic just in case they were questioned about being in Soho.  

The boys headed in and were instantly drawn to the magazine stands.  Scouring for the comics, Tim stumbled upon an academic looking newsletter that he hadn’t seen before.  Grabbing the newsletter and a comic he went to the counter where an elderly man was at the till.  Putting a few bob on the counter, he let the man take the periodicals.  The man smiled as he looked over the comic but his face swiftly changed to a grimace as he picked up the copy of the Minority Research Group Newsletter.  He placed it back on the counter and leaned in speaking softly.  

“Son, this isn’t for you,” he said.  

“What?” Tim questioned.  

“I’ll sell you the comic.  But don’t be trying any funny business around here,” he warned as he rang up the register.  

“What do you mean? I just like to read science journals,” he insisted.  It was not the first time that he had been denied something by a condescending adult, but Tim didn’t like the way that the elderly man was eyeing him across the counter.  

“It ain’t a science journal, and it ain’t for kids,” he growled and turned away indicating that the conversation was over.  

“Come on Tim, let’s go,” John urged behind him.  Tim followed as John headed out of the shop with his comic in hand.   

* * *

 Out on the street, John suddenly pulled him into a side alley by his elbow.  

“Hey!” he shouted.

Tim was still a bit angry about the shopkeeper but lightened up a little when he saw the grin on John’s face.  John pulled something out from under his shirt and handed it to Tim.  Tim scanned it and ascertained it was the science looking periodical that he’d been denied inside the bookshop.  

“You stole this?!” Tim laughed.  

“Lifted it while you distracted him at the counter.  But Tim…” he paused nervously.  “I don’t think this is a science journal.”  He looked around checking to see that they were alone.  Tim noted that John’s entire body had tensed up.  

“What John?” Tim asked as he quickly hid the stolen newsletter inside the comic he had purchased.  

“It’s about queers, Tim.  Lady Queers,” he whispered leaning in.  “Y’know...lesbians.”

“I didn’t know, John.  I swear that I didn’t know,” Tim insisted as they waited at the bus stop.  

They had walked silently to the stop for the bus that would take them back to Poplar.  Both teenagers needed to get home or their families would start to make inquiries.  Also Tim needed some time to clear his head and put together all the information that he had collected.  

And discern how it connected to Delia Busby.  

“Tim...If you were a homo...I wouldn’t care,” John said quietly.  

“I’m not! I swear!” Tim insisted.  “It is all just an investigation.  Really.  That is it,” he said genuinely.  

John paused as he looked into his friend’s eyes.  Tim could see a decision being made by his school friend.  After a pause, a grin played across his friend’s face.

“You’re different Turner, but I don’t think you’re queer,” he said sincerely.  “And I’ve seen your eyes wander around the girl’s skirts,” John smirked.

Tim sighed in relief, then he mockingly hit John’s shoulder.  He audibly scoffed at the insinuation that he’d ever leered at a woman’s body.  Although he knew full well that he had.  They laughed and each felt relieved that such an awkward moment had passed.  

The bus arrived and they climbed atop it heading to the top section in order to be in the open air.  

“Still Turner, what do you care about dykes for?” his friend asked breezily.  “What’s it got to do with you?” he followed up.  

“Nothing,” Tim said as he looked away.  “I’m just curious,” he added.  

“Wait…” John leaned in confidentially so that no one else would hear. “Do you know one? Around here?” he asked with a smirk.  

Tim shook his head in the negative, but didn’t say anything.  “It’s just research for a project,” he said and changed the topic to football.

After he arrived home he took the newsletter out and read it cover to cover. As he stared at the ceiling he thought for a moment.  He had never considered it before now.  Everyone had heard about John Amos being taken to court and that his father had helped him.  Homosexuality was against the law, but he’d never heard of any women being charged.  Ever.  

Still, he was putting some clues together in his mind.  And it now became apparent to him that Delia Busby was lying to everyone including himself.  

And it made him angry.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Thanks to the wonderful Think_Busby_Think for her help and encouragement. She has been killing it lately, so you should check out her fics. Reviews and feedback are lovely, so please drop a note.

Shelagh entered her son’s bedroom.  She had softly knocked and gained entrance with a grunt of approval.  Yet again, her teenage son was morosely staring at the ceiling.  He barely acknowledged her presence as she entered the room with his freshly cleaned laundry.  

“Tim, I know that it’s the school holidays, but do you think that you can at least muster the energy to put your clothes away?” she asked.

He grunted in reply and kept his eyes toward the ceiling.  Shelagh sighed as she began to place his various pieces of clothing in piles on the section of bed that he wasn’t occupying.  She maintained the fold and organisation of each pile with skilled precision, even down to the socks and pants.  

She paused before exiting the room and stirred up her inner courage.  When it came to her nursing skills, Shelagh had high confidence that she knew what to do in any given medical situation. Her training and knowledge was well-regarded by all.  When she had taken up the challenge of becoming a mum to a young boy, she had hoped that instinct would help her out.  Tim’s new moody teenage personality was certainly a challenge to deal with, but Shelagh was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Tim? If there’s anything troubling you, well, you know that you can talk to me about it,” she offered.  

Tim rolled over on his bed toward her.  He sat up and looked her square in the eyes.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to promise not to be mad,” he said haltingly.  

“That’s not a promising way to start a confession,” she said worriedly.  “And I should know,” she said a moment later to put the boy at ease.

She sat down beside him.  His nervousness was readily apparent as he kept his eyes in his lap.  Shelagh lifted his chin upward so that his eyes met hers.  A smile came across her face as she sought to reassure her son.  Sister Julienne had taught her long ago that confession was easier drawn out with compassion than alarm.  

Tim let out a breath and visibly geared himself up. Shelagh waited patiently until he finally spoke still nervous.

“Do you remember when I went to a film in Chelsea a few weeks ago? I called you because I was going to be late and I didn’t want you to worry,” he reminded her.  She nodded in recognition of the memory. “Well, I didn’t call you from a phonebox.  I called you from a ladies club nearby,” he confessed.  

“How did you get into a ladies club?” Shelagh asked stunned.

“They let me in at the door, but mum, I saw something on my way out,” he said quickly.  

“What did you see? Not anything criminal? ” she asked concerned.

“No” he insisted and his head dropped.  “I saw Miss Busby and Miss Mount there,” he said softly.

“Well, it was a ladies club.  You know that even nurses need to go out once in a while,” she grinned as she replied.  “And sometimes they go outside of Poplar to avoid patients or being recognised.  Your father and I do that all the time,” she reassured him.  

“It’s not that mum,” he sighed.  “I think you know that I had feelings for Miss Busby.”  He paused as he looked down uncomfortably.  Shelagh lightly ruffled his hair and squeezed his shoulder. “I saw her there with Miss Mount and I think...” he said haltingly.

Shelagh sighed.  She knew that now she had to tread a very careful line.  Still, she hated having to govern her speech with her own son.  

“Tim, what are you trying to say?” she asked.

He gathered his breath.  Looking at her his eyes were on the side of nearly spilling tears.  

“Miss Busby told me that she was already involved with someone else.  I think that she’s involved with Miss Mount,” he said quietly.  

Shelagh felt a tremor move through her.  She knew that her response to such an insinuation was critical.  

“Oh Timothy,” she sighed.  Still she kept her arm around his shoulder.  Holding the young man close she spoke as carefully as she could.  “Life has taught me many things.  Some sweet and some cruel.  Paramount amongst those lessons, however, is that - you cannot choose whom you love.  After all, I was in a nun’s habit when I fell in love with your father.  I couldn’t fight it.  No matter how hard I tried.  Love wins.  It is an unalterable fact,” she finished.  

She took a moment to compose herself.  Still she held onto Timothy to ground herself from losing herself in recollection.  

“Still Timothy, not everyone understands how strong love is.  Sometimes it is twisted.  Sometimes it is misunderstood.  There are those who don’t understand why I left the order to marry your father.  The gossip was disgustingly sordid.”  She shuddered at the thought of it.  At the time she had turned a deaf ear to the horrible insinuations of some people about her marriage. She made sure to keep such sordid gossip away from Patrick.  He surely would have lost his temper at some of the sinful sickness of wicked minds.

“Delia Busby and Patience Mount are excellent nurses.  It is our responsibility to protect them from any barriers that may hinder their service to the community.  You do understand that what you are implying could lead to their dismissal?” she asked tentatively.

Tim shook his head in the affirmative.  His eyes darkened as he looked up to Shelagh and clenched his fists.  

“Still I don’t understand.  What does it matter?” he asked.

Shelagh shook her head at his good naturedness. It reminded her directly of his father’s naive idealism at times.

“Timothy, did you know that when I arrived here in London I was treated with such snobbery that you’d think I drank blood and had eaten my siblings just because I was a Scot and talked with a funny accent,” she chuckled.  “Still, it only spurred me on and I became the best midwife at Nonnatus house,” she said with a small amount of pride.  “Some are just afraid of what they don’t understand.  As a nurse you have to maintain a high standard of professionalism and there’s an expectation of moral turpitude associated with the behaviour that you speak of.  Whether it is fair or not,” she finished.  

“So what should I do? I want to help,” he asked.  

“Son, it is only our responsibility to defend those who cannot defend themselves.  We must do what we can to allow Miss Busby and Miss Mount to serve the community.  Do you understand?” she asked genuinely.  

Timothy nodded his head.  

“Well Tim, I think it’s time that you put these clothes away, don’t you?” she smiled and ruffled his hair.  

* * *

It was a longstanding tradition that the Turners were expected to attend Christmas festivities at Nonnatus house.  Patrick never minded the fact that he was surrounded by females at Christmas, as long as his wife was one of them.  However he was cheered that this year he would be joined by Eugene, who now had the distinction of being Trixie Franklin’s new fiance.  

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Patrick offered as he stood with the well-dressed but awkward salesman.  

“Thank you Doctor,” he looked over to where the blonde nurse was huddled with a group of other Nonnatuns. “I’m a lucky man,” he raised a glass of orange juice.  

“You better watch out.  An angry lynch mob will be wanting your head once word gets out,” Patrick said wryly.

Eugene looked over to where Trixie, Patsy and Sister Monica Joan stood.  The blonde nurse was talking animatedly to the group - her appearance as effortlessly stunning as ever.  

“I know Doctor,” he grinned.  “A year ago I would have spent Christmas Day in a pub, then somewhere in the gutter.  I was the worst drunk you’ve ever seen.  I had a mask of confidence, that booze propped up.  Without the drink, I thought I’d shatter,” he chortled taking a sip from his glass.

“But Doc, we all have our masks.  Mine was killing me,” he confessed.  “She’s proper saved me. But you know what is best about it? We help each other. Isn’t that what marriage should be?” he asked.  

“I think so,” Doctor Turner nodded as his eyes found his wife and daughter among the sisters of Nonnatus.  Sister Monica Joan pulled a pastry out of a secret compartment and split it with Angela conspiratorially.  He couldn’t help but laugh at the scheme between young and old.

As he looked back, the doctor saw Trixie Franklin walking toward them.  

“Whatever he’s been saying Doctor...well it’s all true sweetie,” she laughed.  She took his hand and forced him to spin her as if they were dancing.  Collapsing into his arms, she pecked his cheek then wiped the lipstick mark away.  Patrick looked around the room.  

“Where’s Miss Mount gone?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s escaped I suppose.  The holidays really aren’t her thing, and Delia’s on shift today so…” she shrugged.  Leaning in she whispered in the doctor’s ear.  

“I suspect she’s gone into the garden to grab a smoke.  She’s nervous about the move.  Perhaps you can reassure her or at least get the poor dear to calm down with a sedative or something,” she motioned toward the back doorway.  

Patrick nodded and decided that he could use a cigarette himself.  

* * *

He found Miss Mount smoking a cigarette alone on a bench in the garden.  

“Doctor,” she nodded.

“We aren’t on duty.  You can call me Patrick,” he smiled.  “I hope that you don’t mind if I join you,” he asked as he slipped out a pack of his own cigarettes.

“Of course not,” she nodded as she inhaled and exhaled smoke from her Sobranie cigarette.  “Delia has tried to get me to pack up, I imagine Mrs. Turner is the same.”

“Yes, it’s a nasty habit.  But I started when I was a boy to be like my brothers,” he smiled remembering them fondly.  

“Boarding school for me.  It calmed my nerves after the war,” she admitted.

“Yes.  Truth be told, I do have an ulterior purpose to being here.  Miss Franklin was worried about you.  She said that you were nervous about moving away from Nonnatus,” he acknowledged.  

He noticed Patsy’s jaw clench as her neck and face flushed.  

“I know her intentions are good, but really I’m fine.  I’M FINE.” She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out.  

“I’m sorry if I upset you.  You see, I also suffer from catastrophic over-worry and felt that I could help,” he offered.

Patsy sighed and lit another cigarette.  She shook her head.

“No, I’m sorry.  It’s just that there’s so much to do...” she stopped short. “I keep making To Do lists in my head.”

“Well, Shelagh and I are happy to help,” he offered.  

“Thank you but it’s not necessary.  You’ve already done more than enough to help us Doctor...Mr. Turner,” she paused.

“I just want you to know that I know what it’s like to...I had to go to Northfield for a time for treatment,” he confessed.  “The War...It wore me out for a time,” he finished his cigarette stubbing it out.  

“May I speak frankly?” Patsy asked.  Patrick nodded affirmatively. “I’m a good nurse. Delia is a good nurse.  She’ll be a matron some day,” Patsy said with a faint smile. “But all this disappears at the faintest hint or suggestion of impropriety.  Please don't act as if the standard is the same.”

“I know it’s not,” he defended.

“All one can do is wait for the penny to drop and hope that there’s a means of escape. That’s much easier for a man,” she paused. “For now, I just want Delia to be safe.  I thought that we were safe here, but even that has proven false, despite everyone’s assurances,” she said as she rose from the bench.

“Surely, you don’t think that the sisters would say anything, do you?” he asked.  

“It can’t be guaranteed though, so this move is really for the best,” she answered.

Patrick surveyed the nurse’s face.  He saw a mixture of determination and sadness throughout her features.  

“Surely though, you are excited to be moving?” he asked.  

The woman beside him tried to unsuccessfully hide a grin.  

“I’ll be more relieved when we’re settled in.  I’ve not really had a home of my own” she said with a half smile.  

“I’ve found that there’s always a never ending list of things that my other half simply must have.  And she was a nun”” he laughed.  “If my wife is any indication, then be prepared."  

Patsy smiled.  She finally seemed to relax as a cheer rose from the house.

“Time that we rejoined the party,” he stood up and followed her out of the garden.

“Yes.” Patsy pulled out some sweets from her pocket.  “Peppermint?” she offered as she checked her watch.  

Nodding and taking a mint from her hands, he saw the young woman determinedly push a smile across her face.  

* * *

 

It was finally time to return to school from the Christmas holidays.  Timothy Turner looked forward to getting back into class and putting the drama of last autumn behind him.  It truly was better for him to focus on the girls in his own class.  Even if they seemed superficial, perhaps he was just as wrong in his judgement of them.  He had been wrong about Miss Busby, despite his implementation of the scientific method.  It seemed that he needed to try out more of a variety before narrowing in on any one in particular.  Natural selection did allow for anomalies and a vast variety of people.  There had to be at least one girl that could talk beyond what was on Top of The Pops.

He churned over what his mum had told him that day.  With fresh eyes he now observed, Miss Busby and Miss Mount together.  He didn’t completely understand it.  It was true that their relationship served no purpose in a Darwinistic sense.  No child was possible from such a same sex union, however he knew that there was never a lack for children in Poplar.  Still he saw no harm in the relationship they shared.  It seemed like it was all due to wrongheaded emotional thinking.  And fear.  

Tim resolved that he would act as his mother and father did.  He would do what he could to help the two nurses as a moral imperative.

“Turner!” Mike shouted down the pavement.  Tim turned to see his classmate with John in tow walking toward him.  

“Can you believe Miss Simpson?” Mike asked.  

“It’s not that difficult.  I’ll help you with the maths,” Tim smirked.  

“I mean her figure mate,” he chortled as they walked together. “It’s more than a handful up top I’d say,” he looked to John for confirmation.  

“I thought your eyes were going to fall out they were so large. You’re so obvious!” John teased.

“I’d stay after school any time to get those legs wrapped around me,” Mike continued.  

Tim felt his chest rise.  He stopped and turned in front of the other lads.  

“No woman deserves such talk.  I don’t want to hear it,” he stood firm.

Mike’s face lost all joviality. He looked toward the boy next to him.

“It looks like Turner’s gone soft.  After chasing skirt all last autumn that’s pretty rich,” he smirked with smug menace.  “Maybe he’s gone homo after all.  All that research into lesbians turned him,” he finished.  

Tim began to fume.  Clearly John had broken their pact of secrecy about what they had discovered in Chelsea.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tim denied.

“What I do know,” Mike pointed toward Tim’s chest.  “Is that I say what I like.  And if I want talk about how fit a bird is then I will.  Whether it’s a teacher, your mum, or one of those bint nurses that you help all the time.  What do you have to say about that?” he smirked.

“Mates let’s just go do homework eh?” John tried to get in between the two boys.

Tim looked down at where Mike’s finger was fixed. He turned away from Mike’s gaze.

“See I knew it.  All mouth and no trousers,” he scoffed.  “Now come on Turner, tell us all about those dykes you’ve read so much about,” he shoved Tim’s shoulder.  

Upon reflection he wished that he really had managed to hit Mike’s face.  Instead he hit him in the throat, which didn’t have quite the same effect.  As he grappled with what he had just done, he managed to step out of the way of a swinging fist.  Stumbling backward over a curb and into the road, he kept his eyes on Mike’s shoulders like his father had taught him.  You could always tell where the punch was coming from that way.  

It had also meant that he didn’t see the car coming toward him until it was too late.  

 

 


End file.
